


The Deals Meant To Break

by Le_Oof



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: All my homies hate Micah, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arthur Morgan deserved better, Babies galore up in here, Blood and Violence, Bounty Hunters, Dialogue Heavy, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Literal Sleeping Together, Most everyone I can stand having in for the long haul, Nightmares, Obviously AU, Oh and Fuck Micah, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Torture, Past Violence, Revenge, Stockholm Syndrome, TB what's TB?, To An Extent, but nah yeah nah not Micah fuck him, not so slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26985490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Le_Oof/pseuds/Le_Oof
Summary: You were one of the most famous bounty hunters in all of the country. Never missed a shot, never came out of a deal empty handed. It's why you were asked to bring in Arthur Morgan, member and best man they had of the notorious outlaw gang-Van der Linde, one of the few outlaw gangs still standing at that.You came in to this fully intent on collecting on the bounty you'd swore on. It was more money than you'd even really known existed, after all. And gods know you needed it, for what you had planned.But then you saw who it was that you were sent after. Really saw, with your own two eyes, as he plowed through Pinkerton after Pinkerton coming his way.That's the moment you realized that maybe, maybe you could help each other.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Reader, Arthur Morgan/Reader
Comments: 21
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

The sound of a guttural groan coming from a throat like desert reign had you puffing out smoke from the hit of your cigar, eyes flicking down to the form lying dormant on the bed. You took a swig of whiskey, watching as the man twitched his feet and hands, slowly waking. 

However, when he did wake, it was anything but slow. If it weren't for the chains around his ankles and wrists, he might've even got the drop on you. Instead, the most he could do was feebly lift his head, eyes- a rather unique color:summer blue and that's not something you should be so concerned with right now but you are- unfocused with a sleek glaze over them, until they found you. And then his eyes turned dark. 

"Where am I? Who are you?" 

His voice was deep. Some in part, you're sure was from the lack of use-he'd been out for all of three days now. You mentally chastised yourself for the slight tingling you felt in your chest at the sound of it. You took another swig of your whiskey straight from the bottle, feigning nonchalance. "You're asking all the wrong questions." 

His brows furrowed in warning, but there's nothing intimidating about an injured man chained bodily to a bed. You both knew that. "Excuse me?" 

You shrugged noncommittally, boots thudding in a slow pattern as you made your way to him. He flinched, body as rigid as the dead as your hands grazed gently, but not enough to give off a feeling of comfort, over the little-less-than-shoddy bandage work over his exposed torso. "I dunno, if I was just shot in the gutt, the first question I'd be asking is how the hell I'm not dead, and how the hell I could be going back to being dead as an afterthought." Your eyes flicked to his, and while there was still anger and intense confusion in those summer greens, there was a little something else hidden deep inside. _Intrigue._

"You saved me." If it was meant to be a question, it sure didn't sound like one. You nodded. "You saved my life, and now I'm chained to a bed in nothing but a pair of pants. What do you want to do with me?''

 _oh, there's **plenty** of things I'd like to do with you, _you thought primitively, eyes trailing slowly across his bare body, attracted like a magnet back to his grizzly, rather beautiful features. Too bad they were miffed now with self-aware anger. You came to the shameless conclusion then that you liked his face much better when he was asleep. 

You sighed, always one for the dramatics as you paced slowly around your small shack, fingers sliding across the cold metal of your revolver. "Was a pretty stupid thing to do; going back to Blackwater like that, Arthur." You heard his breath hitch at the mention of his name. 

"You're a bounty hunter." 

You smirked courageously, tapping the nuzzle of your gun against his ankle and he rather pitifully tried twitching his foot away, only for his skin to cut against the cold metal of his constraints, a crimson red slowly forming around the bottom end of the cuffs. 

"Now what'd you go and do that for?" You cooed like some long-lost-mother you never wanted to be, smirk still glued on your face as you grabbed a wet cloth, slowly wiping at the small trickles of blood as they fell. 

"So what's yer plan, huh?" Arthur asked through clenched teeth. "Gonna keep me here 'till I'm barely ready for travel, then drag me back to Blackwater kicking and screaming to collect?" 

You chuckled with mirth, shrugging as you rung out the slightly pink white rag. "Hmm, that bounty sure is tempting, don't get me wrong." 

There was a moment's hesitation, Arthur staring at you with nothing but curiousity in his eyes now. "But?"

You smiled at his astute inquistive nature, sighing before you squat next to the bed to be precisely eye-level with him. 

"Tell me, Arthur, what all do you know about Agent Milton?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if y'all have had the privilege of seeing what Young Arthur Morgan looks like, but damn if you haven't I highly suggest giving it the old Google search because OOF. Older Arthur is hot af but YOUNGER Arthur? Freaking mmmmm.  
> I'm going to base the game off that look because as much as I love older Arthur's look, I'm currently obsessed with Younger Arthur so yeah. Basic game plot will still go on as usual, and they'll meet up with the Van der Linde gang soon enough, but Arthur's gonna be young Arhur.  
> Also I tried really hard to make the reader gender neutral, but as soon as I said "the mother you never wanted to be" I blew that out of the water. So I'm going to be writing in the standpoint of a female reader, but you're welcome to disregard that all you'd like.
> 
> **POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS AHEAD: MENTIONS OF ABUSE AND DESCRIBED DEATH**

_He was on the ground. There was a dirty boot on his back, a bolt-action pointed at the back of his head and his face half-smashed into the floor._

_You weren't supposed to watch._

_Your mother told you to stay in the cellar._

_But your mother's blood was currently seeping through the cracks of your wooden kitchen floor. Your mother was dead. And her words were too._

_"Pa..." You whimpered, standing on legs like jello._

_His eyes became saucers as he craned his neck as far as he could to see you, his eyes red and puffy from either the suffocation or watching his wife bleed out in front of him-you couldn't tell. "Baby, no-"_

_"And who's this now?" Another man you hadn't seen before seemed to come out of nowhere, eyes glaring down at you with no less than a **hungry** look. He reached out and snatched your arm, yanking you closer and you yelled more out of pure shock than pain. _

_Your father grunted, trying hard to squirm out of his captive's grasp but only getting the boot placed harder on his back, you swore you could hear popping as he moved. "No, leave her out of this! She ain't done nothing wrong-"_

_"Our orders were clear, sir. Clean sweep of anyone and anything that breathes in this house-" he turned back his attention to you, sadistic smirk on his face as his other gloved hand came to caress your cheek. You flinched out of the way, and as a consequence, a hard cold steel collided with your temple. You heard your father shout in agony as he watched you fall to the ground, and everything looked and sounded so blurry you could barely make anything out. You saw as the man walked to your father, saying something with his gun resting straight on his spine._

_Your father looked upon you with tears running rampant down his cheeks, the regret, guilt, despair in his eyes slowly finding their way to settle on minimal hope, and you could tell the moment he gave up._

_"Let me say goodbye. Please." You heard, and your eyelids were getting heavier and heavier as you watched the boot finally kick off your father's back. You watched through mostly closed eyes as your father crawled pitifully to you on the floor, felt his hands on you as he pulled you in close, his lips pecking your forehead long and desperate as he whispered nothing and everything to you. "I love you, Baby. Never forget who you are."_

_It's the first and last thing you ever heard your father say as you were picked up, hoisted over a man's shoulder, and carried from the house you grew up in; the only home you'd ever known-nothing but memories and dead bodies to show for it now. You heard a loud bang just before you felt the darkness seep over you._

* * *

He glared daggers at you as you held the bowl of stew out above him, spoonful in your hands and reached out to him. You cocked a brow. "You really gonna feed yourself with no hands?"

"You could always unchain me," he grunted sardonically and closed his eyes tight. 

"No offense intended or anything, but you're askin' me to put a lotta faith in a murderous outlaw."

"The same murderous outlaw you're begging for help from; that you kidnapped, stripped down, and chained to a bed. Only one of us looks like the bad guy here, girl." 

You kept your mouth shut because damn did he have a point there, setting the bowl of hot stew on the nightstand next to his bed and waiting motionlessly until he opened his eyes. When he finally did, you cocked a brow. "Fine. If I take these things off your wrists, do you promise not to try and kill me?"

He didn't hesitate in nodding, and that was enough to convince you of his true natures. Sighing, you leaned over him and fished the key to his shackles out of your pocket, quickly undoing the latches and jumping back, hand ghosting over the revolver in your gun belt just in case. He only glanced at you quizzically before he gingerly sat up, rubbing at the angry red marks around his wrists and jiggling some of the feeling back into his arms before he reached over, gripping the edges of the bowl of the stew and hastily devouring it.

You let out a tentative breath you weren't even conscious of holding, slowly sinking back down in the chair next to his bed. "Sorry." You didn't elaborate on exactly what it was you were apologizing for-the mistrust, or the whole hostage situation, but you didn't really feel like it was necessary as the man only nodded once, chewing the food in his mouth.

"Whaddya want with Milton, anyway? Where'd he take you?"

You looked down at your boots, fingers squeezing hard into your palms as you slowly opened your mouth. "He made me his wife."

* * *

_And by the power bested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife._

_You didn't get to choose the outfit you were married in. You didn't get to go back to your home and take your mother's dress from the top shelf of their wardrobe because your house had been burned to ash not two years prior. You weren't even allowed within 20 yards of the place because memories hold too much power in a woman's mind._

_You didn't like the color. You didn't like the fit. You didn't like how you had your mother's eyes but you didn't have her dress fitting snug around your hips. You used to play dressup with her-she promised you she'd give you her dress when the moment came. It was so big on you then, you kept tripping over the excess at your feet. She'd laugh her comforting, addictive laugh and pick you up without protest every single time you'd fall. Told you you'd eventually grow into it, and that you'd look so beautiful._

_You hated that neither of you ever got to see what that'd look like._

_Some handmaids helped dress you. Washed your hair, did your makeup, told you how pretty you were when you looked at yourself in the mirror._

_Your eyes were sunken in. They didn't have the twinkle you had-lost four years ago to the day. You were marrying the man on the fourth anniversary of your parents' death, and it made you despise that sick, sad excuse of a human being even more._

_The handmaids pulled you away from the mirror when you started crying._

_His black, ugly eyes bored holes into you as his pudgy, bloodied hands that maybe other's wouldn't be able to see but you could see clear as day squeezing in some false sense of encouragement and comfort against your own. You hardly felt it at all._

_And then his lips-too fat, too slimy, didn't fit well against your own, they were on you. As much as you wanted to pull away, to puke in this reprobate's mouth, you knew it'd come with a hair short of a noose, so you let it happen. You let that ugly, disgusting bastard kiss you and call you his under the eyes of the law. You let everyone believe you were happy, in love, nothing could make things better._

_Ever since the day your old life ended, you'd never stopped living a lie._

* * *

Arthur was quiet, eyes scanning over you head-to-toe but you refused to look back up at him. It wasn't embarrassment that festered in your heart; not really. It was pain, it was loss, it was anger that you were forced into a gilded sort of love and lost everything you had to someone you wanted dead in the ground. 

"You should meet the rest of the gang."

Your eyes snapped up to his then, and the seriousness of both his tone and face had you scoffing incredulously. "You really think that's a good idea?"

He squinted at you, shrugging. "I'm alive, ain't I? Ain't really gonna be hard to twist the story around to keep you safe." He cocked his head at you, something bordering understanding and maybe even sympathy flashing across that pretty- _pretty_ color. "I think they can help you."

"Help me with what, exactly?"

"With killin' your husband, o'course."

You couldn't have had a better reason to undo the rest of his shackles.


	3. Chapter 3

_"This is undoubtedly the worst plan you've ever had, Dutch."_

_Dutch scowled like a petulant child at Hosea, crossing his arms. "Arthur's the best shot we got, you know that."_

_"Good shot or not, there's hundreds of Pinkerton's and probably double that of bounty hunters all over Blackwater. You'd be sending him to die."_

_"Micah swears-"_

_"Micah doesn't know half as much as you think he does." Hosea cut him off, venom thick in his voice. "He's just spinning you the same old yarn because you never latch onto any different string."_

_"What's gotten into you, old friend? Have you compeletely lost your faith in me?"_

_Hosea sighed, long and sad as he peeped out of Dutch's tent to peer at Arthur, who was sleeping deeply, clutching the hat his father died in. Hosea shook his head somberly. "It's not that, Dutch." He turned back to Dutch, tone gentle but incredibly sad, as if mere emotion would be enough to get past that hysterical wall Dutch had built in his head. "You know that boy wouldn't question a thing you told him to do. And if he rides in there and dies, on your order-"_

_"He won't." He sounded determined, but a flash of pain passed past his face at the thought. "Hosea, I trust Arthur completely. He can do this."_

_Hosea shook his head, peering back at Arthur's form as he felt Dutch move to stand next to him. "He's my boy, Dutch. I don't want my boy to die."_

_"As he is mine, old friend. As he is mine." Dutch reached up, patting Hosea comfortingly on the shoulder. "Have faith, Hosea. Everything will be fine."_

_Hosea couldn't bear standing next to him anymore. Couldn't stand another second of his lies. He brushed Dutch's hand off his shoulder, walking to Arthur's tent and moving a chair to sit in front of him, watching his chest rise and fall steadily with sleep. He sighed deeply, reaching out and gently taking Arthur's hat from his hands, setting it on the table beside him and sliding off one of his gloves, slowly reaching out and carding his fingers through Arthur's hair._

_"We'll find you, my boy. Whatever happens, we'll come for you. We-I'll never leave you alone."_

_Dutch closed the flap to his tent._

* * *

You squinted at the onslaught of bright lights assaulting your eyes, sighing a tinge of relief at the sight. You'd been riding for hours, the snow had started an hour ago, and Arthur had been completely passed out on your shoulder for the past two and your back was getting awfully sore. You clicked your tongue affectionately at your Overo, and he whinnied in response, kicking his heels against the cold terrain towards town. 

When you got close enough, you sighed, pumping the shoulder Arthur was leaning on. "Hey." You got nothing but a soft grunt in response. You dug your shoulder up harder. "Arthur." 

It took a few more seconds, but you felt as he woke altogether because he tensed immediately, his head flying off your shoulder. 

You rolled your eyes. "We're almost to town." 

He was silent for a bit as his brain worked to wake up enough to think. "What town?"

You shrugged. "Valentine, I think. I know your camp's close but I'm too tired to keep driving and you need all the sleep you can get if you don't wanna get back to your boys looking like a walking corpse. Besides, Theo here needs a nice night in some heat and hay heaven, don't you boy?" You scratched your nails against your horse's mane gently and he grunted in response. 

Arthur stayed silent for the rest of the ride, until you deposited Theo in the stables and helped him down off the saddle enough so he wouldn't pop the stitches in his stomach. He let you wrap your arm supportingly around his waist, whether it be because he was too weak to argue or some other reason, you didn't bother asking. It was when you'd purchased a single room and you helped him sit on the bed, stoking the fire that you broke the silence. 

"Is Hosea someone in your gang?" Arthur froze from feebly trying to take off his boots, and you sighed, squatting down and taking over the job yourself. "You talk in your sleep."

He was quiet as he watched you slide his boots off, flexing his toes at the welcoming warmth of the room. "He's-probably the closest thing I have to a father. Him and Dutch."

"Dutch." You rolled the name around in your tongue for a while. Milton absolutely despised the Van der Linde gang, much more than the O'Driscolls and the Porter gang combined. Had some sort of personal vendetta against them all, poured more money inyo tracking them down and eliminating them than they even had stocked away, and that only intensified after their shit show in Blackwater. "Heard Dutch has quite the honeyed tongue."

"Yeah, your husband said the exact same thing when he ambushed me and Jack on our fishing trip," Arthur hissed, the workings of a snarl on his lip. "For someone who wants him dead, you sure act a lot like him."

Your face flamed immensely at the accusation. "Don't you dare compare me to that pile of human shit, and don't you even think of accusing me of not wanting him gone. Need I remind you what he did to my family?"

Arthur's face softened almost immediately after your reprimands, and he hung his head, sighing. "Sorry," he muttered, ringing his hands together. "Just, been a tough few months is all." 

You glanced at his pitiful form for a while before you sighed, sinking down to sit next to him on the bed. "I'm sorry, too. I let what I thought I knew cloud my reason. Don't actually know much about Dutch, nor really anyone in your gang besides you."

"Sometimes I think he's just crazy. But, most of the time, he's the best man I know."

You smiled fondly, reaching out and tentatively squeezing your hand against his shoulder. Your smile grew when he didn't flinch away. "I know how that feels." 

Hours later, Arthur was snoring away on the bed and you were still up despite how tired you were, bottle of whiskey in one hand, Arthur's journal in the other.

You tried to ignore the nasty feeling in your gutt when your eyes found the drawing of Mary, a lady barely mentioned but seemed like she was drawn on every page. Wondering who she was and how important she was to Arthur made your heart burn to a point you couldn't blame the whiskey anymore. 

You sighed a frustrated breath, capping your whiskey, standing from the creaky chair and stretching the kinks from your back. You reached down, pulling off your still somewhat wet socks and unabashedly plopping down on the empty side of the bed. 

Arthur startled awake at the movement, head turning to face you with his face like a deer caught in headlights. "Wha.."

"I haven't slept on an actual bed for the past four nights because of a certain someone, and I don't have enough caps to spare buying another room." You grunted out, exhausted and your eyes fluttered shut without you having to tell them to. "You don't like it, there's a floor right beneath you." 

You fell asleep almost immediately after that, and Arthur watched your eyelids flutter every now and then, your soft breaths hitting against his face and he figured then that maybe this didn't feel that bad. 

He sighed, turning on his side to face you and you both feel asleep like that, facing each other.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are goddamn lovely. Thanks for the feedback, kudos and reads, it's the sort of positivity I really need right now. ♥️  
> Yep, shamelessly putting that in the summary cuz it's 6 am and I'm too half-asleep to realize this isn't the chapter notes.

It wasn't that there wasn't a sign of Arthur in days. Everyone knew he liked hiding out after a big job anyway, much longer than really necessary just to be entirely certain that he wouldn't be bringing danger right to them. 

It wasn't that camp mood was dampening exponentially because truth be told, without Arthur the glue of "family" melted right off and people began turning against each other. In fact, the only people still close enough to level-headed were Charles, John, Lenny, Javier and Hosea-all of which weren't hesitating going on a potential suicide mission riding out to find him. If you didn't count Dutch, who was already going insane and Micah, who couldn't give less of a shit about anyone but himself.

It was when Arthur's horse came bounding back to camp with no Arthur on it that things imploded on themselves. The five strong-headed ones were snatching up their weapons, Dutch trying as best he could in his disheveled state to convince them to stand down, Micah watching from the fire with a smirk plastered on his face nobody saw. 

"He's in trouble." Charles said shortly, already running toward his horse. "Javier and I can track him."

"The hell's wrong with you, Dutch? You didn't hesitate sending Arthur and Javier to find me. What's so different now?" John didn't hesitate in his bravado to step closer to Dutch, something even Hosea wouldn't do. 

"I told you this was a bad idea, Dutch." Hosea said, trying to control his emotion behind his tone but failing miserably. "I told you you'd be getting him killed." 

"Nobody's getting killed!" Dutch screamed, turning each and every head in the camp at him. "Arthur is fine. He's smart. He'll find his way back. And if he's not-" the crack in his voice made John's blood boil hotter, "if he's not, then it was my fault. I'll take full responsibility. But you all go riding into Blackwater and you'll just get killed along with him."

John shook his head fervently, shoving past Dutch as if challenging him as he whistled for his horse. "I don't give a damn." 

"Slow yourself, cowpoke," Micah interjected, hands up as he walked closer to John. His first mistake. "Let's take a look at this logically."

"Logically?" John was fuming at this point. "It was your fucking logic that got Arthur into this in the first place, you snake!" 

Nobody was certain who threw the first punch. Maybe it was just the shattering of the beer glass that fell off the table when Jack was running by that stirred it, but before anyone knew it, fists were flying toward the nearest face and it quickly erupted into a camp-wide brawl.

* * *

"I knew who you were the minute I woke up," Arthur commented quickly as the two of you were gathering your belongings together. 

"Did you now?" You weren't necessarily the most humble of people, when the lights were turned towards you you found it the perfect time to steal the show. 

"Course, I didn't know your- _family_ situation, but it's in an outlaw's best interest to know what and who your biggest threats are." 

You couldn't and probably wouldn't have hidden your smirk as you looked back to him. "You consider me a threat, then?" 

He cocked a brow, shrugging off your bravado. Someone not taking your bait both infuriated and _excited_ you. "No. Not a threat. But I know yer dangerous. S'good to know you can hold your own." He buttoned up the last button on his shirt, lifting his head and the teasing glint in his eyes as they trailed you head-to-toe had you biting at your lip. "You're kinda like the female version of me. Bet I could still take you though."

You scoffed, buckling your gun belt around your waist. "Is that so? So you're just going to ignore the whole Blackwater incident?"

His smirk did not leave his face. "Might not remember too much about that night, but I do remember that you, miss, did not shoot me."

You rolled your eyes at him. He was right, of course. Someone else had got some lucky shot in on him when he wasn't looking, and even after being shot in the gut and falling straight off his horse, he still took out a parade of bounty hunters until his strength weathered and he ultimately passed out. Keeping your distance, you sniped the sole remaining Pinkerton racing to hoist Arthur up on his shoulders, and took him for yourself. 

"Maybe I didn't, doesn't mean I still can't." 

Arthur scoffed. "Sure, ya could. But then who's gonna help ya snuff your lover?" 

You shook your head as you took his hands and helped him stand off the bed, motioning him to follow as you bounded down the steps of the hotel and headed towards the stables. "Your horse is alive, by the way." The corners of your lips twitched as you heard his relived sigh. "Ran off when you fell out of the stirrups. Not sure where it-"

"She'll be back at camp." He said with such a certainty you would've questioned it if he didn't cut you off with the answer. "Made sure she knew that if sumthin happens to me, she high-tail it back there."

You only gave him a short nod, your face brightening into a wide smile as one of the stables hands walked your horse back out of the stables. You cooed gently to him, wrapping your hands around his neck and scratching your nails against his fur. 

Arthur didn't tell you how pretty your smile was. 

"So, what's the story then?"

"Well, you're a bounty hunter." 

"Yes," you concurred slowly as if talking to a child. "And you're an outlaw, leading me to a den of the most infamous outlaws left in the country. Probably not the best idea to lead with that." 

You felt Arthur shift slightly behind you. "So then you're a runaway. Runnin' from an abusive husband and ain't got anywhere else to go. Wouldn't really be lyin' so you can keep your morals or whatever." 

You swallowed the lump in your throat at the admission. "And that story sells?" 

"You think what you want 'bout us Outlaws, but we're not all savages. We protect our own, and we help them that need helpin." 

You could feel the tears begin to prick at your waterlines, and you hastily wiped them away before they formed. "And they won't question my skill with guns?"

"That'll actually be a plus for you," Arthur retorted quickly. "We like the ones that can pull their weight 'stead of just piggybacking off someone else's."

You sighed, nodding. "Alright then." 

"That reminds me. Fore we get to camp, I'm gonna need your guns." You pulled tightly on the reins, stopping your horse abruptly and sent him back an exasperated look that he only chuckled at. "Ain't nobody gonna believe a runaway, disgruntled wife's gonna be absolutely loaded." 

You groaned because of course, he was right. You knew the next thing went without saying, but you had to build your confidence back some way, "If you shoot me with my own guns I'm coming back just to bury you with me." 

He laughed heartily at that, and you tried ignoring the heat rising in your cheeks at the sound of it. You clicked your tongue at Theo, and you both started off again toward the camp. 

As you were getting closer, you couldn't help but be curious about the silence from Arthur. "Everything alright?" 

"How do you mean?" He asked, tone far away as if you'd just torn him from his thoughts. 

"Well, I dunno. I kinda figured you'd be more-animated about getting home.''

"It ain't like that. It's just-" he sighed deeply, and you swore you could hear the war in his head from where you were. "I went to Blackwater on an order. Didn't question it, which was stupid enough on my own part. Just, didn't realize how goddamned terrible the plan was 'till I about died for it." 

You perked up alert at that. "Wait, Dutch sent you out on your own?" 

"He figured the less people, the easier it'd be to sneak in and out." 

You scoffed incredulously. "That's not-"

You weren't able to finish the thought before you were both cut off by the sounds of men screaming, glass breaking, obvious signs of a fight coming from where you thought was where the gang was supposed to be hiding out. 

"What the hell?" Arthur growled, without any regard to himself as he jumped straight off your horse. Before you could even reprimand him for risking popping his stitches, he was tearing off toward the noise and boy, was he fast. 

You sighed, pulling Theo to a slow trot behind him. "Quite a welcome, huh boy?" You groaned into his fur. 

He grunted in response.

* * *

It infuriated John to no end that Micah laughed through the blood smearing down his face. So he hit harder. 

Javier was going after Bill till the bastard pulled a knife. He tackled him to the ground and wrestled the knife from his hands, holding it threateningly to his neck.

Swanson was more than likely passed out in the woods again.

Lenny was sharing a drink with Uncle, asking him what the hell Lumbago was.

Sadie was threatening Pearson with a meat cleaver, but that was normal.

Hosea was screaming at Dutch's face, Dutch's eyes screaming savagery as he clenched his fists to his side. As much as the two fought over how shitty their situation was getting, they'd never lay a harming hand on eachother.

Charles was standing off to the side with the ladies of the camp, watching the idiots go at it like a pack of feral dogs.

Kieran was still tied to the tree, shrinking up to the trunk hoping the idiots would just keep the fight over to that side of the camp.

"What in the hell is going on here?" 

The fighting immediately stopped, and every head snapped to attention at the voice. 

Arthur was standing there, holding his gut, eyes a fury as he glared at the animals disguised as his gang members. "I'm gone for a couple days and you all kill eachother?" 

Immediately, Charles, Javier, Lenny, Hosea and John crowded Arthur, giving him swats on his back as if they all didn't have new battle scars riddling their bodies.

"Arthur!" Dutch's booming voice came from halfway across the camp, and when the group dispersed, Arthur didn't have time to even open his mouth before Dutch was smacking him into a hug.

It was genuine. Arthur knew Dutch rarely ever did things he didn't mean. But that didn't mean he couldn't at least be cross with him. "I almost died, Dutch." He said gruffly. 

Dutch, for his part, only hugged Arthur tighter. "I know son. I-I don't know what I was thinking." 

Arthur looked up past Dutch's shoulders, eyes landing on Micah, who dared look almost disappointed at his reappearance. "Don't really think you were the one doing the thinking on this one, Dutch."

Dutch let go then, looking at Arthur with a questioning glare but before he could even go about asking it, the telltale sound of hooves thudding behind Arthur had everyone startled into that direction. Everyone instinctively laid their hands on their guns.

Arthur shot his hands up as you yelped, walking backwards until he could feel your warmth behind him. "Wait, wait hold on. She's with me." 

You opened your mouth to introduce yourself, but Arthur must've sensed that because he sent you a swift kick to your boot. 

"She was with me in Blackwater. Runaway, trying to get away from her husband." He swiftly undid his shirt, ignoring the wolf whistle from Uncle and showing his bandaging off to the camp. "She saved my life. Thought we could do something for her."

All eyes were on you, some kind and welcoming, some scrutinizing you for any flaws, some genuinely disinterested. You squirmed slightly. 

"Her husband, he's-" 

You tapped Arthur firmly on his shoulder. They should hear that from you. "It's Milton. Agent Milton, Pinkerton Detective Agency." Arthur stepped closer to you as people began becoming suspicious again. "He killed my family, and then forced me to marry him. He's a vindictive, evil abusive bastard and I want him dead." 

"And what does helping you get us?" A man interrupted you who you immediately recognized as Dutch, you'd seen plenty of bounty posters with his face plastered on them almost everywhere around West Elizabeth. 

"Because he wants you dead, too. Spending more money than Blackwater even has trying to get to you. You cut off the head, the body follows. Seen it plenty of times."

Dutch stared hard at you, so hard you couldn't read into him at all. Arthur sighed softly, stepping closer to Dutch. "It's worth a shot at least, Dutch. She probably has information on a lot of the Pinkertons; where they are, what their next move is. Her husband's the head, at least." 

Dutch blinked, then blinked again. He looked at Arthur, then to you, then back to Arthur. He straightened up, hand sliding off his gun. Arthur put his hands down in relief. Dutch swallowed, nodding at you. 

"Well then Miss, we humbly welcome you to the Van der Linde gang."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk you guys, I liked Javier. And Dutch, I have a very good feeling he would've been a good man if Micah didn't get in the way.  
> Maybe we might just have to do something about that, huh?


	5. Chapter 5

_You were nine years old when you realized for the first time that people were truly capable of change._

_Your father was into some-rough-business when he was younger. At least, that's what he and your Ma liked to call it. They thought if they didn't put a name to the man he used to be, it was barring you from following in his footsteps._

_How wrong were they._

_Your father was an outlaw. Didn't have much choice, you'd learned long after he was a pile of ashes littering the dirt. He was born and bred into it, just like his father and his father's father before him. If there even were honorable outlaws out there, your father was at least fortunate enough to run with the sort._

_But that don't mean the life of an outlaw doesn't catch up with you. It always does._

_"What's got you all in a tizzy, baby?" Your dad looked at you, the smile he wore you inherited from him, and you wanted nothing more than to reach out, hug him, stretch out the corner of his lips like you used to every time he'd smile at you. You liked big smiles. It always meant you were twice the happy._

_But when you tried, your limbs wouldn't move._

_"I-I don't-" you peered down at the lasso hanging limp in your hands. "Pa, I don't know how to do it."_

_Your father squeezed his face together in a teasing smile before he took the rope from you hands, holding it up to the sun as if it'd make the tassels shine. "This looks pretty good to me. Damned good, I think." He looked back at you, eyes shining gold in the light of the sun. "You do this, baby?"_

_You swallowed, shrugging. "I-guess."_

_"I know damn sure your mama and I ain't teach you how to tie a rope this good, we can't even do it between the two of us!" He chuckled lightly, reaching out for your hand and firmly pressing the edge of the lasso against your palm, closing your fingers around it. "I know you know how to rope cattle. You're just scared you ain't gonna be good enough."_

_You swallowed thickly, throat growing heavy as you bit back the sob in your throat at the admission. "I just don't wanna let you and ma down," you whispered pitifully, a single tear falling from your eye and landing directly on your lasso._

_"Hey now," your father cooed gently, hooking his ring finger under your chin and gently pulling your head up to look at him. "I knew from the moment I first met you that there ain't a thing you could ever do to let me down, sweetheart. You are my pride and my greatest joy, and you always will be. You hear?" He smiled, wiping away the tears falling earnestly down your cheeks now. "It doesn't always have to be about being the best at something, baby. It's never really about that. You can find what you're good at-" he pointed at your fist, still clutching your lasso, "in the little things here and there. It's about learning what you're not so good at that's the best part. Means you can keep working at it till you get it right." He stood up slowly then, smiling down at you as he reached out his hand. "And you're always gonna have someone there to help you along the way, like me and your Ma. So let's go then, fore it gets too dark."_

_You smiled gratefully through the tears still stuck in your waterline, sniffing as you took a hold of your father's hand and he lifted you gracefully into his saddle._

_You knew even the worst people could change._

_Your mother's blood crusted into your hair. Your father's screams pierced your skull._

_You knew that the best people will always be the worst to somebody._

* * *

"Aye, sleeping beauty." You gasped awake to someone shaking your shoulder roughly. Your eyes adjusted, you saw it was Arthur, his summer blues smiling teasingly down at you. "Welcome back from dreamland, princess." 

You groaned, rubbing the crust from the edges of your eyes. "I don't dream." 

Arthur scoffed incredulously. "Sure you don't." You heard his boots scuff against the dirt as he walked closer to you, and you felt slow-rising irritation when he snatched up the cloth around your neck. "Maybe you don't dream, but you sure do drool." 

You fixed him with the meanest glare you could muster, slapping his hand away. "I don't-" you stopped short as soon as you saw the rather large stain of water dabbed across the neck of your blouse, grimacing as you brought your hand up to the corner of your mouth to wipe the crusted evidence away. 

"You were saying?," Arthur asked, voice light and full of mirth as he watched you with arms crossed. 

"What do you want, Morgan?" You asked tiredly, sitting up in your cot and rummaging through your foot chest for fresh clothes. 

"I got some business to attend to up in Valentine. Dutch says I should bring you with." 

You furrowed your brows together, pausing from pulling a sock on. "Why do you need me? What're we doing?" 

"Shopping," Arthur said shortly, smile increasing tenfold as he watched your face bloom red in agitation. 

"Shopping. You march in here in the wee hours of dawn-"

"It's noon," Arthur interjected snidely. 

"Just to tell me I have to go on a shopping trip with you?" 

Arthur smirked, nodding. "That's correct, ma'am."

You couldn't hold back the smirk at the little squeal and chuckle that followed as you chucked your boot straight at his face. "You're impossible, you know that?''

"So I've heard," Arthur joked, starting toward the front flap of your tent. "Hurry up and get dressed, we're wasting daylight here." 

You rolled your eyes. "I can't imagine our dire necessity of grocery shopping will ruin whatever your plans are for later tonight." 

"And that therein lies your biggest problem," he noted gruffly, lifting up the flap to your tent. "You ain't got shit for imagination." 

He was gone before you could ask him whatever the hell that meant. 

* * *

You found him leaning against the hitching posts, whistling a tune and checking the chamber of his revolver meticulously. 

"Whaddo we need those for? I thought we were just shopping?" 

Arthur turned to you, face stoic as he shrugged. He walked to the side of his horse, scrambling in his saddle bag for something and tossing it toward you. "Here. You'll need this."

You furrowed your brows at the bandana now crumbled in your palm. "What? I thought you said-why do I need this?"

"We _are_ going shopping. We're just not gonna be spendin a dime." 

You shook your head fervently. "Arthur, I ain't never robbed a soul. You don't want me for this."

"Which is exactly why I _do_ want you for this." He pursed his lips, motioning for you to climb up on your horse. You sighed a shaky breath, slowly putting your feet in the stirrups. "You're running with a bunch of outlaws, princess. This is how we do things. If you get squeamish about taking money from people that deserve it, you won't last long here." 

"What could someone have possibly done to deserve having their livelihoods stolen from them?" 

Arthur clicked his tongue, and his horse began trotting off to Valentine. Begrudgingly, your horse followed close behind. "We ain't robbing from good people. O'Driscolls are running a counterfeit business in the room behind the doc's shop. Seen it yesterday when John and I was out scouting the place. Good people don't work with the O'Driscolls, Princess." 

You swallowed thickly, nerves running rampant through your body. "Next time you wanna take me robbing with you, try not to get my hopes up with a lie."

"Yes, because I'm sure you were just so eager to buy the camp vegetables."

"Now that I know the alternative, I'd never be more glad staring down a head of cabbage."

Arthur chuckled at that, slowing his horse a bit so that he was riding right next to you. "Listen, you'll be fine. You need to learn how we do things around here if you're planning on staying a while. Just follow my lead, and everything will work out." 

You didn't reply, if only on the fears the anticipation in your gut would make your voice shake. 

"So how you getting along with the gang?"

You sighed. For their own respective viewpoint, the gang had their own rights to be weary. After all, they are outlaws sheltering the wife of one, if not the greatest adversary they had. That's not to say that there weren't some that welcomed you with open arms. Most of the women, besides Grimshaw of course but you got the feeling she was like that with everyone. Most of the boys, too: Charles, Lenny, Javier, Uncle, John and you think Hosea as well but you two hadn't talked very much. You'd seen the way he'd look at you though in passing glances, proud, comfortable. Arthur wasn't wrong about that man. 

And Dutch had given you a whole-ass tent to sleep in so that had to mean something. 

But it's also not to say there weren't people that rubbed you in the complete wrong way. Like Bill, or Micah. _Especially_ Micah. Even thinking about his name caused goosebumps down your skin, and certainly not the good kind. 

"Slowly but surely," you said positively enough. 

Damn that man for being able to see right through you. "You'll warm up to 'em all in no time. Just keep doing what you're doing." Arthur chuckled slowly to himself. "Dutch is very happy you know how to hold a gun. Even happier you can shoot it. Keep it up and you'll be fighting me and Marston for top seats."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Don't mean to burst your bubble, but I don't think I'll be staying that long."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And what's your plan gonna be after you wipe out the head of a government protection agency? Think civilization's just gonna welcome you back with open arms?" Your blood ran a little too cold at that. All these years you'd been plotting the man's death, you never really took into account what would happen after he was six feet under. "Civilization is mankind's worst invention yet, princess. They'll paint you such a bad picture that you'll never be known as the same again. Even the best sort are the worst in some eyes, no matter what they've done to change it.''

You felt yourself pale at the statement. As if you hadn't had that thought in your head for years. 

"Can we just-focus on trying not to get shot up today?"

Arthur snorted, but sighed, giving his head a little nod. "Alright, then. Follow me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be where things start picking up, exponentially.  
> Trying to keep their banter as fun and light as possible to start to build up chemistry early so the eventual kissy touchy feely thing won't feel so sudden and out of place.


	6. Chapter 6

"C'mon, I just wanna get a drink! I'm parched!"

Your head snapped up towards the sound, and you spotted a begging veteran-at least by the way his clothes told. He was slouched against a house, head down as if he was ashamed of himself for being in the situation, but the confidence in his shouting told a conflicting story. 

Still, you couldn't help the tremors of sympathy from coating your heart. 

Your eyes turned to Arthur, who was riding his horse beside you and looking straight forward, seeming none-the-wiser about the situation. But you knew that wasn't the case, ain't no way the boy'd suddenly gone deaf. 

"Arthur." He grunted once in response, but didn't look at you. " **Arthur."** Your tone must've held some tendrils of finality, must've stirred up something in the stoic Clyde to your Bonnie because his head turned to face you, eyebrows cocked expectantly. 

"What?" He hissed, annoyance clear in his tone. 

Your eyes trailed back to the man, and you gave a little nod so Arthur would look too. "We gotta help him out."

Arthur slowed up his horse minutely, staring for a little more than a second before he turned back to you, scoffing. "Nah, I don't think so."

The teasing tone of his voice had you bristling. "And why the hell not? Can't spare a quarter for someone in need? Whatever happened to outlaws helpin' them that need helping?" He still said nothing, but you could see how tensed his back muscles were from where you were sitting on your horse. "Or is it something different? It it because he's too _civilized_ for you?"

That certainly got his attention. His head snapped so fast to you you swore you could hear tendons popping in his neck. "You shut 'yer goddamn mouth, girlie. Ain't got no right assumin' like that."

"You think your threats are gonna scare me off? I'm not scared of you, Arthur Morgan." His eyes grew wide at that, you almost shouting out his name to the crowds of people passing you in town. "If I was scared of you in the slightest, I wouldn't have taken up your-"

"Alright!" Arthur hissed, abruptly brining his thoroughbred to a halt and hopping off his horse, albeit grumbling curses at you under his breath as he disappeared behind his horse, but appeared next to you soon after. The pout on his lips was comically childish, and you were seconds away from commenting on how cute it made him before he was shoving a slip of paper at you. "You take this to the sheriff, then. Don't say nothin. Just drop it on his desk and leave. Make sure he sees it, though."

You cocked a brow, scanning the folded sheet of paper. You grabbed an edge, starting to unfold it to read its contents. "What," you gasped as Arthur roughly snatched your wrist in his hand. You squirmed, his grip tightening and you could already feel the beginnings of a bruise on you skin. "Arthur." He didn't budge. "Arthur, you're hurting me."

Something in his face seemed to soften then, and he released his grip on your wrist. "Don't need to look at it. It's somethin' Dutch had me bring along."

He didn't have to say more, you sure weren't about to invade Dutch's privacy and get on his bad side. He'd already seemed a little off-skelter, and you sure as hell weren't about to do anything to send him off the deep end. You and Arthur both knew that you'd be the first he'd come hunting should that happen. Slowly, you nodded, folding the paper back down. "Okay, fine."

Arthur seemed satisfied at that, giving a curt nod. "Alright." He grabbed his horses' reins in his hands, passing them to you. "Tether our horses around back of the doc's place. Meet me back here when you're done."

"Wait," you called after him, stopping him in his tracks. You fished around quickly in your pocket, flicking a quarter at him that you were slightly impressed he caught. "For the vet."

Arthur squinted his eyes accusingly. "I can afford to-"

"Then throw your's in there too, for christ's sakes," you mumbled. "That's for me, not you."

He squinted at you, sighing and rolling his eyes before he turned on his heels, walking in the direction of the vet. You smirked triumphantly at his back, directing the horses into town. 

You tried not to notice the leering glances of the townsfolk as the horses trudged along beside you. Lustful and hungry glances from men you were used to, you were a woman in the 20th century, after all. But these looks, they weren't like that. Almost like they were accusatory, as if they knew exactly who you were, as if they knew who your _husband_ was. You swallowed the trepidation building in your throat, angling you hat down to cover most of your face as you quickly got the horses tethered, packing yours and Arthur's guns on your person. You stopped by the office, the sheriff glaring at you curiously but you only did as Arthur had said, dropping the letter on his desk and giving him an expectant glance before you left. Your walk back was the most self-conscious you've ever been, you could feel their eyes searing holes into your back as you walked ten paces short of running back to Arthur. 

"Can I hold you a second, mister? Can I?"

You paused, leaning back against the side of the house and peering around the corner. Arthur, looking mighty uncomfortable, flailed his arms at his sides and glanced around both shoulders before he sighed helplessly, looking back at the man. "Okay, just-Quickly."

You swore to the lords above that this smile almost split your face in two as you watched the vet latch onto Arthur quickly, slamming him into a hug. Arthur, face red enough you could see it from here, straight as a board, tentatively brought up an arm and slapped it twice against his back. 

"Oh, thank you, Mister! Thank you!"

As he was departing, Arthur looked to the side and his eyes met yours. You quickly ducked back behind the house as you heard Arthur's footsteps coming toward you. You covered your mouth with the back of your hand, trying to hide your smile but ultimately failing as Arthur stood in front of you, eyes conveying a conflicted mix of a murderous, humiliated glint. 

"Not. A. Word." He hissed at you, jabbing his pointer finger toward you and you put your hands up in mock surrender. He squinted threateningly at you, eyeing you from head-to-toe before he nodded, beginning to walk away. 

"Y'know, I'm mighty scared 'bout this, Arthur." He didn't turn around. A chuckle escaped your lips before you continued, "Could you hold me?"

The swift kick to your shin was 100% worth it.

* * *

"Okay. Cover up," Arthur whispered, eyes going to you as he pulled his bandana up over his face. 

You sighed, hands shaking so much you couldn't even get the thing knotted behind your neck. Arthur must've noticed this, because his eyes almost ghosted sympathy before his hands found your shoulders, turning you around and tying the knot himself. He turned you back around to face him, summer blues glued straight on you as he slowly brought up his hands, pinching the edges of the bandana and gingerly bringing it up to rest just above the tip of your nose. 

You didn't mean for the tear to drop. For fuck's sakes, you hadn't even cried when your parents were killed. But you were _scared. **Terrified.**_ This all felt so wrong, even though Arthur insisted it wasn't. Your father tried so hard to make it so you'd never become even a fraction of what he used to be. 

Load of shit that did you. 

Arthur sighed, sympathetically squeezing his hand against yours. "Look, I get it. The first one's always the hardest. But I promise, you do exactly what I say, and you'll be okay. I'll be there with you, every step."

_There'll always be someone by your side to help ya, like your Ma and me._

Your eyes stung as your father's voice boomed in your ears. You breathed out a shaky sigh, giving him a slight nod. He started forward, and you thought you could let him go, that you were ready, but you found yourself pitifully reaching out and latching on to his hand as if it were life or death. "Arthur," you sobbed out, feeling humiliated at the weakness in your voice. 

He squeezed his hand tight against your own, turning back to you and positioning himself as close as he could to you, his warmth more of a comfort than you could have ever thought. "Okay. You're okay. We ain't going anywhere till you're ready."

You squeezed the last of the tears from your eyes, nodding and dropping your head to rest against his chest. He tensed at first, but slowly you felt as he brought up a hand, stroking against your back in soothing, long lines.

You felt as your breath stilled, the tears crusted along your cheeks as you looked up at him, nodding. "Okay, I'm ready."

Arthur gave you a quick scan himself, before he nodded firmly back at you. "Let's get this done, then."

* * *

"Hey there, I ain't doing no business with ya till you take them masks of-" the doctor was stunned silent as Arthur pulled out his revolver, pointing it straight at the doc's face. "Hey now!"

"Shut the hell up!" Arthur growled, and your eyes only wavered to him minutely, the growl in his voice was almost _feral,_ something you'd never heard. You bit back that remark, pulling out your own revolver and pointing it at the doc in suit. "I wanna see what's in that back room of yours. Now."

The doctor quickly glanced between the two of you, hands up at his sides and skin paling more within the second. "Ya heard him," you felt yourself piping up without you even thinking. You were slightly conscious of how contrastingly steady your voice was compared to the fear running rampant inside you. "You really wanna die for this?"

That got the doctor moving, you stepping back as he walked around the counter and began walking slowly toward the back room. "You try anything funny," Arthur drawled lowly, "and your head's coming right off. Now move!"

The doctor quickened his steps, shaky hands fumbling as he brought his fist up to the metal door. 

"Who is it?"

"It's just me, boys. Thought you'd like some refreshments." The doctor was conscious enough to keep the tremors from his voice. 

"Ah, calm down boys. S'just the doc. Alright, come on in!" 

Slowly, the doctor fished keys from his pocket and jiggled the keys in the lock, a resounding click before he jumped back and out of sight, cowering himself into a corner. Arthur, gun still trained on the doc, looked over his shoulder at you. "Stay with the doc, make sure he doesn't run or try somethin' stupid," he whispered gruffly. 

Your eyes widened. "You won't need any help?"

Arthur squinted, rolling his eyes. "Ain't my first gunfight, Princess. O'Driscolls can't shoot for shit, not even at point-blank."

"But what if something goes wrong?"

"Hey, what's the hold-up out there, Doc?"

Arthur's head snapped toward the noise, and he spared a quick glance toward you. "Stay out here. I'll call for you if I need you."

He was gone before you could respond, and upon hearing the confused shuffling and then a barrage of bullets, you stepped forward, yanking the doctor to his feet and shoving him toward the front office. You tossed him in front of his cash register, gun pointed straight at his head. "Money, now!"

He whimpered slightly, but quickly stood, hands working automatically to open the safe. Your eyes glanced up for a mere second to scower the walls behind him for anything of value. 

And that's when you saw it. 

Hanging on the wall, so big and obvious, was a missing poster. Of you. Your breath halted, your eyes going wide and the doctor noticed this, eyes looking up and then following your gaze to the poster on the wall. He squinted at first, and then realization invaded all his features, and he looked back at you with eyes wide as saucers. "You're-"

"For fuck's sakes," you said breathlessly, striking the doctor upside the head with the butt of your gun. It was an instinctual move, and left you stunned for a mighty few seconds before you sighed, petrified as you yanked open the cash register and slamming the bills into your satchel. You quickly ripped your poster off the wall, folding it and sticking it next to the bills. You were filling your satchel with numerous health tonics before you heard a grunt coming from the back. 

"Princess!" Arthur screamed at you. 

You leaped over the doctor's body, racing toward the back and shoving the door open with your gun already up and drawn. 

Arthur, mere seconds away from losing consciousness, peered at you with half-lidded eyes from over the grip an O'Driscoll lady had over his trachea. You squinted, gun already resting straight between her eyes and she glanced you over, huffing a laugh. 

"You really hire anyone these days, don't ya?" She whispered against the top of Arthur's head, and he merely grunted in response, knowing that if he tried squirming away he'd lose consciousness the very second. She threw her head back, laughing heartily before she glared back at you. "Whatcha gonna do, Dame? Cry me to death?"

"I've got a better idea," you growled lowly and before anyone could take another breath, you sent a bullet spiraling straight into the bitch's forehead. She went limp immediately, slamming against the hard wood floor and Arthur ripped himself from her grasp, crumbling on his hands and knees and coughing desparately, trying to get the air back in his lungs. You lunged forward, hands going to his back and stroking cricles around his back before you yanked him up, letting him lean against you as you ran toward the back exit of the shop, fiddling with the keys you swiped from the doctor before one finally worked. You crashed through the door, pulling Arthur along with you and after helping him up on his horse, you climbed up on yours and dug your heels into your horses' sides. "We gotta go!"

Arthur didn't need to be told twice. He kicked into gear, rearing his horse to the front and barreling toward the forests bordering Valentine. You were nearly clear before you heard shouts and a parade of hooves beating on the ground behind you. "Shit!" Arthur yelled, urging his horse forward. "Keep your head down an' keep goin'!" 

Your body was shaking with lasting adrenaline and plain fear as you leaned forward on Theo's saddle, one hand soothing against his neck as you urged him forward. You felt something sharp hit your arm, felt like a bee sting at first but then you were acutely aware of the burning sensation, and you winced. "Ah.." you muttered mutely, but Arthur heard it anyway.

He tried looking over his shoulder at you. "Princess, you alright?"

You bit back the screams in your mouth, nodding slowly as you felt the exhaustion from blood-loss and adrenaline burnout coarse through you. "Keep going," you mumbled, something you barely heard but Arthur seemed to feel as he sighed frustratingly, but nodded and looked forward. 

You rode for what felt like hours, horses barely weaving through the vast trees and other wildlife before Arthur aprubtly pulled his horse to a stop. "Alright, I think we've lost them." Without a second warning, he hopped off his stirrups and raced to you, wrapping his hands around your torso and peeling you away from your stirrups.

"Arthur, m'fine. Can wal-" you stopped as soon as your feet hit the ground because _no,_ you definitely could not walk as you felt as if you were swimming on land. A single step had you barreling toward the ground, and Arthur quickly grabbed you, but you yelped as his hand squeezed against what was-yep, that was definitely a bullet wound. You felt the bile rise in your throat as you stared at the large stain of crimson ruining your blouse. You were barely able to shove Arthur away in time before you fell on your hands and knees, bile rising up and out of your throat, sticking to your cheeks. You heard Arthur hiss a curse, then felt as he squat beside you, pulling your hair back and stroking your back in soothing circles. 

"Hey, hey, you're okay. You're gonna be fine." The stroking against your back began to numb. "You did real good today, Princess. _Real_ good."

You couldn't find it in you to gloat, because before you could even open your mouth again to respond, you felt yourself drop fast into the black.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sparks are beginning to fly, my loves <3  
> It's not entirely to the smutty stage yet, but there's traces of it in this chapter. So if that was to make you uncomfortable in any way, I'd stop reading as soon as the reader asks Arthur about his own injuries.  
> Damnit if only I remembered how to type out the lenny emoticon ;)

You woke, disoriented, to the sound of fire crackling and smelling some sort of meat being stoked over it. It was pitch black from your spot on the ground, your back and head supported by a plump bedroll and your body covered with the warmth of not only your's, but Arthur's jacket.

_Arthur._

You hadn't even gotten to see the extent of his injuries, or even if he'd achieved more in that runaway from the law because you were far too busy passing out from blood loss. You couldn't catch a sight of him from where you were, but squinting you saw the glow of embers a few steps down north of you. 

You flipped the blanket off of you, gathering yourself and, in your still sleep-addled mind, completely disregarded the fact that you had a whole bullet in your forearm until you tried lifting yourself and yelped at the burning, aching pain. 

Not the way you wanted to make yourself known, but certainly working as you heard shuffling from where the fire was and before you knew it, Arthur's silhouette appeared and began walking quickly toward you. He hadn't said anything since he was close enough that you could actually make out his features, but the smile both curled on his lips and burning bright in those pretty blues was enough to make your heart flip. You were in midst of cursing yourself for such unabashed thoughts when you felt a hand slowly pushing you back down to rest against your bedroll. 

"Hey there, Killer." He cocked a brow at the wince the nickname drew from you. "Too soon?"

You groaned, your uninjured arm splaying across your eyes. "I don't think it'll ever stop being too soon," you moaned, knowing that it was her or Arthur but still-reliving the memories of you actually sending a bullet through another person's skull made your blood run cold. Sure, you'd shot others before, but normally it was just in the arms or legs, nothing short of incapacitating your victims so you can lug their still breathing bodies to the nearest sheriff office. There was a reason you'd never take bounties where they specifically wanted them dead. "Would prefer you sticking with 'Princess,' if you could."

Arthur, teasing glint still in his eye all but illuminated in the moonlight, scoffed with mirth but nodded slowly. "Sure. Get up." Before you could even react, Arthur was already wrapping his arms around your frame, being extra mindful of the wound in your arm as he helped you up into a sitting position. You heard metal clanking together as he retrieved something behind his back and seconds later, he was holding a flask of cold, merciful water to your lips. You had no idea how thirsty you were until the steady stream of liquid turned to mere drops. You subconsciously whined, but that quickly turned into a groan when you realized you could hear it with your own ears. Arthur only chuckled, and you gazed apologetically over at him.

"Sorry," you supplied weakly. 

Arthur only shook his head. "Don't be. You needed it." He was already offering you a slab of cooked buck meat from his satchel, which you took without question. "Not exactly the king's feast you should be getting, but-" he gestured around him blindly, "we don't really have the luxury of living like kings no more."

You shook your head at the praise, surprising yourself a bit. Normally, you'd relish in the attention. Now, however, all you could think about is how warm you were with Arthur this close to you. You felt yourself gravitating toward him, and, blinking, you realized you actually _were_ inching closer to where he was sat. If he'd noticed it, he sure hadn't said anything. Still, you tensed, clearing your throat and sitting up straighter, eyes going to your wounded arm if only for a release from the nerves sent rampant in your body. Your long sleeve was, unfortunately but understandably, cut all the way from the cuff of your shoulder, a thick amount of cloth adhered to where the entry wound of the bullet was, all tied together with a thicker piece of cloth tied in a knot around your arm. 

Arthur looked up from his own hunk of meat, catching you staring and his eyes narrowed self-consciously. "Sorry I couldn't have done more for 'ya. Hard to say we weren't really all that equipped to deal with the prospect of one of us gettin' shot."

Your eyes snapped up at the disapproving undertone to his voice, and you shook your head quickly. "No, no, you actually did real well. Nothing more than a dull throb of pain now, and it ain't even bleeding too much."

You saw as he physically relaxed, sighing as he dug his butt deeper into the ground in front of you and kicking out his legs so that the toes of his boots were ghosting just above the curve of your thighs. "Gotta admit, the amount of blood on your shirt gave me a little bit of a shake, but when I cut the sleeve off it wasn't as much as I'd thought."

You nodded. "Stains will always trick you like that."

Arthur nodded slightly, chewing absently on his meat as he talked. You bit back the motherly urge to tell him to swallow his food before he started talking, not wanting to ruin this-whatever this was that was making you feel so damn warm around him. "Bullet went straight through, if it'd gotten stuck in your arm I woulda been well out of my element. Cleaned you up and got us a little further into the woods, juss' in case."

"And what about you?" He blinked once at you, face visibly confused. "You were just about choked out before my own eyes, you get any other injuries in our scurry from the law?" He hesitated then, giving you the benefit of the doubt as he uncrossed his arms and set them on either of his outstretched knees, head angled down as he quickly scanned himself for any injuries. 

"I don'...think so?"

The uncertainty in his tone was enough to leave you acutely unsatisfied. "Nuh-uh, that ain't gonna do." You brought your legs up to sit cross-legged on the top of your bedroll, tapping the now void space at your feet and looking at Arthur expectantly. "Get yourself over here and let the professional have a look at you."

Arthur, albeit begrudgingly and with far too many scoffs to count, slowly heaved himself up and stopped just beside your bedroll, kicking himself out of his boots before he stepped on the void space and slowly inched himself until he was sitting cross-legged, right in front of you. 

Okay, maybe you didn't think this through. The close proximity of Arthur, he hadn't actually been this close to your face since you'd met him. Not _consciously_ at least. Despite him being a rough-and-tough outlaw, he smelled remarkably clean, even his breaths hitting you ghosted the faint smell of mint. His eyes were somehow even prettier the closer they were, especially as he was this alert and ready as they stared straight through you. 

Arthur was most certainly not an ugly man, scars abundant and as much as he tried making himself look tough and unapproachable, this certainly wasn't the first time you were aware of his naturally good looks. It was, however, the first time you were aware of it with him being so _close._ You found that his eyes were most certainly your favorite thing about his face, and you caught yourself, against all better judgement, lost deeply in that green-blue sea long enough for Arthur to squirm under your gaze.

"You gonna...move at least?" 

You shook yourself back to reality at the sound of his husky voice, not missing the cocky smirk that curled his lips but not giving him the satisfaction of mentioning it. You sighed, lifting your arms in a gesture for him to do it himself. "Arms up," you commanded in a firm tone. 

His eyebrows cocked up, smirk only growing tenfold but he did as he was told. "Love it when you go all doctor voice on me, Princess."

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks at the sly comment, but merely cleared your throat and tried very, very hard to focus on examining him but god _damn_ if that wasn't the firmest damn chest you'd ever felt. Jesus, it's as if his parents actually gave birth to a fucking rock. As soon as your examination for broken ribs was over, you sprung your hands off his torso. You chose then to feel around his legs, because compared to the other appendages you'd had left to check, you figured that legs and feet were considerably less alluring than those monsters he called arms. 

Nope. You were wrong. Fuck, even his _ankles_ were well-muscled and protected. Slowly squeezing along the joints to make sure there were no tears or breaks in the bone, your hands slowly made their way up his shins, then his calves, his knees, and you certainly noticed the small squirm and quickening of Arthur's breath as your hands trailed up and ghosted right over-a certain something. Something just short of hunger laced through your brain, and you felt your own lips start curling in a smile.

How foolish the boy was, thinking he was the only tease here. 

You took your sweet time _thoroughly_ checking his thighs, hands sliding down the fabric of his jeans and squeezing along the insides of his thighs and relishing in the way his hips began to jerk under your touch. You'd thought absently, maybe it'd have been better that you at least asked for permission before feeling him up like this. But then again, if he'd really felt all that uncomfortable, then _why was he still here?_

You'd fanned those flames into a wildfire as your hands groped along the curve of his thigh until your grip was right under _him,_ your knuckles brimming the side of the bulge under his pants. You spared yourself one glance up toward his face, but his head was bowed down, his eyes glued to your hand. Letting out a slow breath, you released your grip on his thigh and without another second wasted, your hand found its way over his bulge, and right then and there you had never found yourself more offended by a pair of pants as you were now. 

Still, it had the desired affect on Arthur at least. His hips jerked up, and he let out a long moan that he'd later deny to his last days, biting hard down on his bottom lip as your hand teasingly slid over it, wrapping around its length and cupping just at the tip of it. Experimentally, you applied pressure with your hands and even through the layers of clothing, you could feel as his bulge twitched hungrily against your touch.

"Don't-" Arthur panted out, swallowing hard enough you could see his Adam's apple bounce, "don't think I got hurt down..." another swallow and jerk of his hips as your hand slowly stroked up his bulge, "down the-r-e."

You hummed a slow, languid chuckle and Arthur was three seconds away from ruining his favorite pair of underwear before you let out a soft breath, hand finally coming up off him and _fuck,_ did that whimper he let out send tremors though you. You bit your lip, both for show and as an excuse to keep your own resounding moans of need at bay. "Just making sure," you drawled out, smirk on your lips as you looked to him. "A doctor can _never_ be too thorough."

Arthur didn't respond to that, but the way his eyes held their glazed-over gaze of lust well after you'd let go, the way that his breathing was still coming out in hard pants, the way that you most definitely had seen his member digging a hole through the top of his jeans, was enough to satisfy your own needs. You sighed out a long breath, hearing the smile in your tone as you reached out and tipped his chin up with your fingers, frowning at the ugly red and blue marks scattered across where that bitch had had her arm around his neck. You hummed your disapproval, which was enough for Arthur to blink the lust from his eyes, now clear as they scanned your face. "What?"

"How'd you even end up in that situation, anyway?" You asked breathlessly, motioning to his bruised skin as you drew your hands back, finding your satchel and digging into it for one of the health cures you knew you'd snatched from the doctor's shelves.

Arthur, after making sure you weren't just setting him up to look a fool, sighed dejectedly before shrugging. "Found her cowering against the corner once the last of the boys had dropped. Was sure she was just some innocent broad they'd picked up at the saloon or something, at the wrong place at the wrong time. She waited till I holstered my damn gun till she sprung on me." He trailed off, a profound look of sadness ghosting his features now as he picked at a piece of thread sticking out of the corner of his jeans. "Don't-won't think I'll ever be able to find it in myself to hurt a woman, much less _kill_ her. Regardless of how much a piece of trash she is."

You paused at that, eyes leering over him sympathetically as you tried figuring a response to that. Eventually, you sighed, leaning forward and grabbing one of his hands, slowly pressing the small glass bottle of cure into his palm, curling his fingers over it and pressing both your hands against his closed fist. "Ain't nothing wrong with that, Arthur. Ain't weak to have _some_ good in you."

Arthur scoffed at that, but you could see the glint of appreciation in his bowed eyes. "Sure does seem that way, given what I choose to do for a living."

You shook your head determinedly, groaning in disapproval as you yanked his chin up again to look at you. "You're a good man, Arthur. You weren't brought into this life with much of a choice, and maybe I don't know you half as well as I think I do, but I can see it in you that you're _good._ You got a good heart, Morgan. Don't you never think differently."

Arthur's Adam's apple bobbed again under your gaze, and he parted his lips as if he had a response, but ultimately only sighed, leaning away from your touch and dipping his head back, chugging the health cure out of the bottle and grimacing against the taste, eyes screwed shut as he shook his head against his swallow. He sighed in distant relief as the cure began numbing the throb in his neck, opening his eyes and smiling genuinely at you. 

"Never did thank you, you know."

You quirked a brow. "For?"

"For saving my life," he said, so genuinely that you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. How in the hell had he made you so goddamned shy under his praise, and why the fuck were you finding yourself _enjoying_ it? "For, what? The third time now?"

You smiled slightly. "I stopped counting," you supplied and Arthur chuckled at that. 

"I mean it, though. Thank you, Princess. Not sure how I can repay you for that."

You smiled fondly then, reaching out and squeezing your hand against his. "You brought me in, sheltered me and agreed without protest to helping me even after I _had_ kidnapped you with every previous intent on turning you over to the law. Trust me, Arthur Morgan, you've more than repaid me."

Arthur stared hard at your face then, and his gaze was so intent you felt tendrils of fear spike your heart as you dug hard in your brain to figure out what you could have said to possibly offend him, when you were interrupted by the crash of Arthur's soft, slightly chapped lips against your own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha I'm a cock tease. Pure fluff and tooth-rotting sweet crack in this chapter since the next chapter's gonna have a more serious tone to it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Universal rule that if clothes stay on, it's not interesting enough to detail. Don't worry though, we got all the time in the world to get into that smut :)

You felt yourself being pushed back against the bedroll, Arthur's tongue swiping at your lips as you happily conceded, letting his tongue explore the inside of your mouth. You opened your mouth wider against his lips, panting short breaths as a shot of nerves ran through you. "Arthur," you began, because as much as you wanted to let him take you, you knew this couldn't wait. 

He merely grunted in a half-response, increasing the force of his kiss as his hands trailed up and groped against your breasts. Your eyes fluttered closed and your moaned in pleasure as his hand cupped against your breast, squeezing ever so gently as if he was more than well practiced in pleasuring a woman. 

Still, you were ever impressed with your own will, and your hands found his chest, shoving him slightly away from your lips. His lips left yours with a slight popping noise, and he groaned his disapproval as his eyes, almost the color of the sea at night scanning you quizzically. "What's wrong, Princess?" 

Your eyes scanned his face, his lips already beginning to swell from your actions and God, how much you wanted to drop this and latch onto those plump pink _beauties_ but you forced whatever resolve you had left in you to drive those thoughts from your mind. You sighed slow, staring straight at him and asked, "what about Mary?" 

You almost regretted the question as soon as it left your lips, Arthur's features first ghosting raw confusion, then realization, then hardening into an almost scowl as he stared down at you. "What about her?" 

You shook your head against the leather of your bedroll, squinting your eyes at him. "Don't play coy with me, Arthur Morgan," you said firmly, but making it a point to keep the alluring tint in your voice. "I know you've gone to see her not a week back." 

And it was true. One day Arthur turns up missing, the day he'd promised to take you out for some hunting, at that. Upon not finding him in his tent that morning, anxiety bubbled through you and you walked around aimlessly before Abigail took notice of you and beckoned you over to ask what was up. Soon as you asked where Arthur was, her eyes glinted sympathetically as if she knew something you hadn't wanted to admit, begrudgingly telling you all about what Mary was to Arthur, and that he'd gone to see her in town. 

And that hurt. Of course, you couldn't blame Arthur or be the slightest bit angry with him. It's not like you two were some item, you had no claims to him and he certainly had none to you. But hell, that burning pit of jealousy in your stomach really wanted differently. 

Arthur blinked at you, quiet for a short while before he sighed, lifting himself up into a sitting position and you gulped back the whine in your throat as you pushed yourself up to sit with him. "So, what're you saying?" 

"I ain't mad at you or nuthin', if that's what you think," you were quick to assure him. "I just-" you trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words as your confidence was fleeting the sadder Arthur seemed to get. You grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight enough for him to glance back up at you. "Can you look me in the eye right now and tell me that I'm the only one you want? Truthfully?" 

For his part in the affair, he did try. He squared in on you, lips parting at the ready, but he only managed a small squeak before he sighed dejectedly, bowing his head. 

It hurt, of course, but it was better you knew now than going further only to get your heart broken. Your thumb traced small circles in the center of his palm. "That's alright, Arthur. I get it, and I ain't mad about it. A little sad, but that don't mean nothing." You reached out, cupping his cheek in your hand and he took that time to look up at you, eyes proving the existence of the internal battle in his head. "I ain't asking you to choose, Arthur, but I ain't a woman that takes kindly to being strung along. If we're going to be together, I want it to be real." 

Arthur sighed knowingly, a hand reaching up and covering the hand still cradling his cheek. "I understand," he whispered breathlessly.

The two of you were lapsed into silence, and neither of you could help the urges still pulling at you. There was a connection between the pair of you, one you both were acutely aware of and hastened not to ignore. Arthur's eyes began to darken again and you could feel as the desire began tingling in your finger and toes. "Do I gotta choose right now?," Arthur asked lowly, voice almost a growl and you shuddered at the sound. 

You smirked bravely, hands slowly trailing down to feel the bulging muscles of his torso. "Guess that could always wait a little while longer, at least," you replied teasingly and within the second Arthur crashed his body into you, slapping you back down on the bedroll. 

* * *

You woke to bright sun rays shining through the trees and straight into your eyes, blinking groggily and grunting as you stretched out your limbs, hand grazing against warm skin. You turned to lay on your side, smiling as you watched the still sleeping form of Arthur next to you. You'd never really noticed it before, but Arthur snored. Not loud enough to be annoying, but something you could hear over the morning bustling of the wildlife surrounding you. You found it incredibly endearing. 

You sighed out a tranquil breath as you slowly brought up your hand, fingers starting first by tracing a small line up his abs. He twitched slightly under your touch, but did not wake as he slowly grew lax again, hot breaths tickling the tip of your nose. You let a small smile curve your lips, hand running up against his arm until it found its way to his face, using your thumb to trace the outline of his parted lips. You paused at the calming feeling of his slow breathing against the pad of your thumb, sighing happily. You clenched your fist, knuckles running small patterns gently against his cheeks and upon laying a small kiss upon the tip of his nose, he finally began to stir awake. 

He slowly blinked open those beautiful eyes of his, bleary at first until they focused on you. A handsome, sleepy smile slowly stretched across his face as he let his eyes flutter shut again. 

You rested your hand against his cheek, thumb running circles against his skin. "Good morning," you drawled sweetly, smiling as you felt his hand come up to cup against your own. 

"Mornin'," he replied gently, and that hoarse, sleep-thickened morning voice of his had your toes curling. He hummed lowly, eyes slowly opening again to rest on you. "M'gonna miss waking up like this," he said almost sadly, and you sighed. 

"Who's to say it's forever?," You pressed him gently, but still gave him an understanding smile. "Me too."

Arthur smirked gently before he sighed, slowly taking your hand off his face and stretching, sitting up on the bedroll. "We'd better get back to camp 'fore Dutch sends a search party after us." 

"I thought he had the 'upmost faith in your abilities?," You teased, sitting up beside him and tossing your head side to side trying to find your shirt. Arthur whistled at you, and you turned to him to see him reach over to the side of him and come back with your blouse bundled in his hands. You smiled gratefully at him, taking it and gingerly pulling it back over your arm. 

"He does," Arthur finally replied, standing so he could pull his pants back on. "But he doesn't with you," he said with a smirk on his face and you scoffed, throwing a handful of dirt at him which he only chuckled about, finishing pulling his socks and boots on and lifting you bodily up on your feet so he could roll up the bedroll. 

You sighed as you buckled up your satchel, tossing it over your shoulder and slowly meandering over to where Arthur was grooming his horse, face completely at peace as he smiled beautifully, cooing sweet nothings into the mane of his thoroughbred. You smiled, hanging back to take in the beautiful sight of him for a little while longer before you eventually walked up to him. His eyes found you as your boots began crunching under the leaves and grass, and he offered you a small smile. "Ready to go?" 

You nodded, offering Theo a sugar cube before you hoisted yourself up into your saddle, patting slowly against his neck. "Yeah, I'm ready." 

Arthur hummed in agreement, clicking his tongue and you let his horse take the lead-not bothering to hide the fact that you were totally unabashedly staring at his ass the entire way back to camp. 

* * *

"Arthur, my boy! There you are!" You heard Dutch's voice boom from across the camp as soon as the two of you passed the wooded clearing into camp. "(Y/N)," he bowed lowly, taking your hand and politely helping you out of your stirrups. You gave him a grateful smile, nodding at him as he gave you a slight bow of his head. "How'd you two get on?" His eyes narrowed to the cloth around your arm. "You alright?" 

"She's fine, Dutch. Nothing but a flesh wound." Arthur piped up, stepping rather close to you, suspiciously enough that you couldn't help but wonder if something was going on in that head of his. You brushed it off as you felt his hand gently squeeze at your shoulder. "She did mighty fine yesterday, Dutch. Mighty fine." He reached into his own satchel, pulling out the wad of bills he'd gotten from the back room and you followed suit, taking out the bills you'd nabbed from the cash register and holding them out to Dutch. 

"I was also able to nab a good amount of health tonics from him, I'll pass 'em off to Strauss immediately," you offered with a smile, Dutch returning that smile with one of his own, taking the wad of bills from your hands. 

His eyes gleamed proudly at you, and he didn't bother hiding it as he squeezed firmly against your shoulder. "Mighty proud of you, (Y/N), good work. Both of you." He nodded toward Arthur, and he smiled, giving a nod back. Dutch began to walk away, but you stopped him, calling his name. 

"There's-something else." You said slowly, and both Dutch and Arthur turned to you expectantly. "When I was jumping the doc, I saw something on the wall, and-" you sighed, snatching the missing persons poster from your satchel and unfolding it, holding it out in front of you for both men to see. "Well, you oughta just look for yourselves." 

Both men glared at the posters, faces ghosting worry but the big difference is Arthur's face stayed worried as Dutch's face switched to a determined, thoughtful glare that didn't really sit well with you. 

"Well, shit, that ain't good. What're we gonna do, Dutch?" Arthur piped up after a while, glancing at Dutch expectantly. 

Dutch brought his fingers up to stroke his chin, eyes narrowing in thought and sighing complacently. "I say, we do nothing." 

Your brows shot up, and you were more than ready to interject but Arthur beat you to the punch. "Nothing? Are you insane?! Dutch, the Pinkertons are looking for her, and they'll be bringing an army along with 'em!" 

"Nobody knows we're even here yet, Arthur," Dutch retorted, tone holding sincere finality. "No use turning tail and running from nuthin' till we actually have a reason to. Besides, they ain't got no reason to think she's even with us." 

He had a point. Arthur must've agreed, because you could feel him slowly deflate and relent, letting out a small sigh. "I hope you're right." 

"Have faith, Arthur," Dutch drawled, making himself sound like a broken record with how many times he'd said that. He glanced back at you, smiling warmly. "Don't worry about a thing, Miss. You're safe here with all of us. We won't let a thing harm you, long as you're here." 

You believed him. Dutch was an excellent liar, could spin some wild tale so far you're too turned around to ever see straight again, and by the time you did, he'd be far gone. But he was also genuine when it came to family, and he'd never outright lie to them. You respected that he knew what family truly meant, and you genuinely liked him, although there were others that warned you about his slowly dwindling mental state. 

You sighed, giving him an encouraging smile. "Thank you, Dutch." 

"Of course, (Y/N)," he smiled lastly at you before turning all his attention to Arthur. "You feel like getting out again, Arthur?" 

"Why, whaddya got planned?" Arthur gruffed lightly. 

"Was thinking you, me and Hosea could go out for a little stroll around town, see what we can find and talk about where we're going from here. Sound good to you?" 

Arthur sucked in a surprised breath, brows quirking happily. "Just us?" 

Dutch smiled, but his eyes hooded over before he slowly added, "Micah was wanting to come along, as well." 

Arthur's mood immediately dampened, and he cursed. "Of course he does." 

"Arthur," Dutch scolded him. 

Arthur waved him off, grumbling under his breath. "Guess I don't really got much of a choice. Lemme settle some things here and I'll come find you." 

Dutch seemed pleased enough with that, and he tilted his head in farewell at you before he turned and walked away from the pair of you. 

You looked over to Arthur, his jaw set firm and pure annoyance and rage in his eyes as he glared at the ground. Your heart panged sympathetically, and you reached slowly out to him. "Arthur," you began slowly, but he rounded on you before your hand could reach his arm. 

"I gotta go, Princess. He'll be cross with me and will hold it over my head for weeks if I don't. I just- _really_ hate Micah." 

You chuckled at his bluntness, nodding in agreement. "Can't argue with you there," you quipped, sparing him a pitiful glance as you reached out again, running your hand soothingly up his arm. "You gonna be alright?" 

Arthur sighed, smiling tightly at you before nodding. "S'not the end of the world. Close enough to it, but not it." He titled his head at you, eyes scrutinizing you. "Better question is, will you? I know the feeling of knowing you're being hunted ain't a good feeling to have alone." 

You smiled, but sighed. "I guess you'd all know that better than me," you concurred, biting at your lip. "Is it wrong to still feel scared about it? I know Dutch means well, and I'm certain he was telling the truth about y'all protecting me, but I can't help but to still feel a little paranoid about it all." 

Arthur titled his head, glancing at you sympathetically as he reached up and latched onto your shoulder comfortingly. "No, Princess, ain't a thing wrong with that." He sighed long, chewing the inside of his cheek. "I certainly don't feel right leaving you alone while I'm off talking business. Tell you what," Arthur trailed off, looking around the camp until he found who he was after, eyes feigning purpose as he stuck two finger in his mouth, letting out a shrill whistle. "Aye, Marston, get over here!" 

You didn't have to turn to see the distaste of John being forced to follow orders, especially from someone like Arthur, but heard as his boots slowly made their way to the two of you. "(Y/N)," he greeted you nicely enough, tipping his hat to you before he glared hard at Arthur. "What you want?" 

"Dutch is taking the lot of us out on a trip to town, I need you to look after (Y/N) here till we get back. Take her out hunting, she's always bugging me about it." 

John scoffed incredulously. "You want _me_ to go hunting? Don't you 'member the last time I went out hunting and mangled a rabbit with a sawed-off?" 

Arthur groaned at the memory, and you chuckled lightly. "Please, don't remind me." He turned to you, eyes light in thought before he nodded back at John. "This'll be good for the both of you. She gets experience, and she can give you pointers." 

John, expectantly but light heartedly bristled at the idea of a woman teaching him how to do a "man's job," but he didn't comment on it and you saw his posture slowly relenting. "Why don't you ask Charles to take her?" 

Arthur looked off to the side near where Charles's tent was, nodding. "Charles is asleep. C'mon, Marston. You still owe me for saving your ass back in Colter.''

John sighed, unable to argue before he shrugged. "Alright, fine." He turned to you, nodding his head. "You got a bow?"

You nodded, offering him a small smile. "Back on my horse. You?" 

He shook his head. "Gotta go bother Charles for his. Meet me near the horses?" You gave him a nod, which he returned before returning and heading toward the direction of Charles's tent. 

You turned to Arthur, giving him a small smile. "Thank you, Arthur. I appreciate you wanting to keep me safe. Just hope John here's as good a student as he is a wolf's after-dinner snack." 

Arthur snorted at that, giving you an encouraging smile. "Oh, he definitely isn't. But if there's anyone that he'll listen to, I'm hoping it's you." His eyes wavered on you, seeming as if he was about to say something to you, but you saw as he gave a little shake of his head, his eyes going back to normal. "I'll see you later?" 

You nodded, smiling. "See you later." 

Arthur gave you one last smile, bowing slightly as he disappeared somewhere inside the camp. 

* * *

You were busy picking at the dirt under your fingernails, sitting with your back resting against Theo's front legs when you heard someone approaching you. You looked up and upon seeing John sauntering up to you, you gave him a smile. "Hey." 

He nodded at you, smiling slightly. "Hey. Ready to go?''

You nodded, standing and brushing the dirt from your pants before settling into your saddle, waiting for John to do the same. "Where we heading?" 

"Well, I woulda suggested the woods near Valentine, but that probably ain't the best idea considering what you and Arthur got into yesterday." You'd think he was judging you if he hadn't offered you an encouraging smirk. "Figured we'd head out into the Heartlands instead, see what we can find there." 

You gave him a nod. "Sure, lead the way." 

He nodded, clicking his tongue to his horse and it whinnied at him, leading you both out and ducking under the wooded clearing. 

As soon as you were out of earshot of the camp, John reared on you with a teasing smirk on his face. "So what's going on between you and Arthur?" 

You gasped in surprise, stunned in silence. "I'm-not sure what you're alluding to, Mr. Marston," you replied, but the heat rising in your cheeks was a dead giveaway. 

John chuckled with mirth as he scanned your face. "I've known Arthur almost all my life. I know what it looks like when he's smitten. S'written all over his face, _especially_ when he's looking at you. Odles like some love sick fool, he does."

You couldn't help but smile fondly at the admission. Sure, you'd caught Arthur staring at you plenty of times, but you'd always thought that look he gave you was just some figment of your imagination, something you hoped was true deep down but never had the nerve to ask. It was reassuring to know you weren't the only one seeing it. Still, you cleared your throat, straightening in your saddle and closing your lips tightly together. "I'm afraid you're mistaken, John Marston. There's nothing going on between us, we're just friends." 

John snorted unceremoniously at that, but gave up with a show of shrugging his shoulders. "Whatever you say, 'Princess'," he added at last minute and cackled like a maniac when you reached out and slugged him hard in the forearm. 

* * *

"So, Dutch, what's your plan? What're you gonna do about (Y/N)?" Hosea asked, all four of the boys huddled around a table in the Valentine saloon. 

"It's not like she's some burden needs fixing, Hosea. Don't put it like that," Arthur interjected, glaring darkly at Hosea. 

He put his hands up in mock surrender. "Woah, down boy. I didn't mean nothing by it, I was just inquiring as to when, how, and where we're planning on taking down Milton." 

Dutch peered at the two of them, letting out a small sigh before he shrugged. "That'll still be a long ways ahead of us, boys. We can't afford to get in trouble this early, not after we just robbed that train back in Colter and that stunt you and (Y/N) just pulled with the O'Driscolls," Dutch whispered, eyes locked into Arthur.

"Speakin' of that, how's come there ain't lawmen coming and breaking down the door to the Saloon as we speak? Surely Arthur's ugly mug ain't something too hard to recognize," Micah piped up, and Arthur could already smell the alcohol on his breath. 

"It's from that letter Dutch had 'em drop off at the Sheriff's office. Told 'em all about the situation with the O'Driscolls, not forgetting to mention that his very own deputy was reaping in the benefits." Hosea said, smirking proudly. 

"So, you blackmailed the law into getting away with it?" Micah prodded, but even he couldn't hide the pride in his voice. It was a solid plan, and it mostly worked in their favor. "So then why were they still chased outta town?" 

"Those were civilians who saw it go down and thought they were proud enough to take the law into their own hands. They've been dealt with by the Law, I'm sure," Dutch said absently, hand spread palm-up as he waved off Micah's inquiries. "But really, that's not the biggest concern we should be having right now. We do still need a plan about this whole Pinkerton business. Usually, I'd only be calling on Hosea here for a second opinion, but I think this calls for more heads. And some of us, it seems, are in it for some more _personal_ reasons." Dutch glanced at Arthur from across the table, good-natured smrik on his face. 

Arthur rolled his eyes, but couldn't deny the heat rising in his cheeks as all heads turned to him. 

"Why don't we use her as bait?" Micah proposed after a few minutes of silence within the group. 

Arthur's head snapped up, blood boiling. "Fuck no, we're not doing that." 

Micah rolled his eyes, glaring at Arthur. "You might've turned into some love sick fool, Morgan, but you can't let something as fleeting as that cloud your judgement. We need to lure them out, and what better to use than the one thing he desires most?" 

"He could kill her!" Hosea piped up, shooting daggers at Micah with his eyes. "It's too risky to leave it to chance."

Arthur looked at Dutch expectantly, hoping even that he'd be as ready to shut Micah down as the other two were. But then he saw the look he had. Like he was actually considering it, like Micah had, once again, seduced Dutch with a silver tongue and promise of some false-hoped glory. "Dutch," Arthur groaned, tone almost whining. 

Dutch looked up at him, and with a small, but still prevalent amount of conflict etching in his features at the sound of Arthur's pleading tone. He rolled his head side-to-side, sighing as he parted his lips. "It's certainly something to consider, Arthur." 

His blood boiled. "Dutch!'

"You got some other plan, Arthur? Hosea?" Hosea sent his furious glare at Dutch, but said nothing. "Look fellers, it's not like we'd just be sending her out there to die. We'll all be hiding in the shadows, ready to strike when the moment's right." 

"That girl put her upmost faith in us, she's done more for us than most every new person that comes into our gang and you're just expecting us to be okay with putting her in harm's way just because Micah says so?" Hosea scoffed, shaking his head. "I don't agree with you, Dutch, and that's final." 

Dutch's jaw set firmly, and he was barely able to contain his rage as he turned his expectant gaze to Arthur. "Arthur?" 

"You already know my feelings on this, Dutch," Arthur growled, tone like gravel as he glared at him over the brim of his hat. 

Micah sighed, reaching out and covering Dutch's hand and making him look him in the eyes. "Look, I ain't too keen on the idea either, but think about the betterment of the rest of the gang. The longer she's sitting around in the camp, the more dangerous it gets for everyone. We're sitting ducks as long as she's still running." 

"Fuck you, Micah. You couldn't give a damn about anybody but yourself!" Arthur screamed, heads from across the saloon beginning to turn towards them, but Arthur couldn't give less of a damn.

"Arthur," Hosea tried reasoning with Arthur, but Arthur only growled, yanking Hosea's hand off his arm.

"You don't get to spin that shit about caring for others, when you used that same excuse when you got Dutch to send me out to die!" 

Micah, barely containing his anger, tried to remain composured-only to sell his story to Dutch that he was the only one competent and fit enough to decide what the best course of action was. "Now that ain't fair, Arthur. It's not like any of us knew you'd be picked off-" 

"Save the bullshit, Micah! It was obvious you were sending me into a deathtrap willingly, and you got Dutch to go along with it so you could be one step closer to completely taking over his head-"

"That's enough!" Dutch yelled, and everyone knew with that tone, that finality, that bone-chilling understanding that if you didn't shut up, you'd better be ready to pick the color of your coffin. "I'm a big boy, Arthur. I can think for myself. And you, Micah, don't you go insulting my or my family's intelligence by claiming you give a shit about them after all them times you complained about how many mouths there are to feed." Dutch paused, taking a deep breath and composing himself before he raised his head again, addressing the whole party. "I'm not saying for certain what we're going to do about our current situation, boys," he said, barely above a whisper as there were still lingering eyes on the pair of fools causing a scene. "But until-unless we can come up with a better option, Micah's plan bares the most fruit. I'm not pledging to nothing just yet, but know that I'm considering any and all propositions. And that's all there is to it." 

"Dutch," Arthur tried pleading again, but Dutch was already standing from his chair, heading out of the saloon with Micah right behind him. Arthur let out a defeated sigh, turning all his hopes to Hosea. 

Hosea gave a sad, sympathetic smile as he reached over, squeezing his hand into his own. "I'll talk with him, Arthur. I won't let him put that little miss in danger. I promise you that." He sighed, slowly standing and rustling out the wrinkles in his vest before he flicked his head toward the saloon doors. "C'mon, we better catch up with them before Dutch can accuse us of plotting against him again." 

Arthur sighed sadly, but stood, following closely behind Hosea and ignoring all the judgmental glares random saloon passengers were shooting their way. 

"I-I really care about her, Hosea," Arthur said pitifully, eyes glued to his boots as they walked. 

Hosea's arm snaked around Arthur's, and he pat his shoulder comfortingly. "I know, Son. I know."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So a big thing about making this fic is that I really like putting focus on mental processes of everyone. I'm a psych major in college rn and it's a big, interesting thing for me and I absolutely love talking about mental health.  
> So, the reader, i.e. you, is going to be somewhat like a psychologist for several characters in several situations because you care and because back then and even TODAY, people thought it was a load of shit.  
> Just a little disclaimer before you start reading and dive right into it.

"You are absolutely horrendous at this," you cracked through a wheeze as you watched John stumble along noisily. "How in the world have you lived this long?" He only flipped you the bird, not even looking as he stepped on literally every twig and crunchy leaf in his path. "Seriously, you have to be this bad on purpose at this point." 

"Fuck off, (Y/N)," John hissed at you, groaning as he saw that the buck you two had set your sight on had fled. You didn't have the heart to tell him it ran away about 50 leaf crunches ago. "You'd be terrible at this too if all you had was Dutch and Arthur teaching you."

You kept the smile on your face, but quirked a brow. "No Hosea?" 

He paused, and you saw a rather conflicted, almost hurt look pass his features minutely before he relaxed again. "Hosea didn't-really enjoy the idea of me and Arthur back then. Him and Dutch got into a lot of fights about it once upon a time." 

You were entirely surprised about that, seeing as how you've seen how loving and nurturing Hosea was with most everyone around the camp. The two of you hadn't spoken much directly, but something about him was just so calming, you respected him deeply. "Really?''

John nodded almost solemnly. "Yeah. Kept saying Dutch had lost his touch, was going too soft. They picked up Arthur 'afore they got me, and Hosea was twice as bad with him as he was with me, if that's even possible. Even left for a while because of it all." John paused, sighing. "Hosea's not a bad man. Right now, he's one of the best men I know. But back then-" John cut himself off, and the two of you were silent for a long bit while you kept your eyes to the ground, seemingly just to track the buck but in all reality it was to keep from showing too much emotion to John and getting him all flustered. "I dunno. I'm just talkin' stupid.''

"It's not stupid, John," you replied reassuringly. "Your feelings are valid. It's just so hard to see Hosea as someone with hate in his heart." 

"It ain't like that, it's just-" John sighed again, frustrated and dejected at the same time and you bit down hard on your lip to stop from reaching out to him. "It's like, I think Dutch felt guilty or sad or something that the life he lived made it so he couldn't settle down, have a wife and a couple kids. And I think Hosea plain out just didn't want the same stuff." He shrugged, shifting so that he was following straight behind you because he was still consciously aware of the noises he was making. "Arthur and I ain't never really had dads. Not real ones, both our dads were deadbeats. So when you think of what a dad's supposed to be for his kids, it was Dutch. Hosea only came around after he came back, when he was older. Cared more. Started being someone we could depend on, like the bond we had with Dutch. I don't hate the guy, don't blame or harbor no resentment towards him because he did end up being a good guy in the end. I just- I dunno." 

"You wanted him to be different." You answered for him, and you saw from the corner of your eye how he nodded mutely, hurt laced on his features again. You gave him a small smile in hopes of a shred of comfort. "Guess I'm lucky I showed up when I did, huh?" John scoffed, nodding again. "For what it's worth, I think Dutch did a good job. For you and Arthur both." He faltered in his step under the compliment, tripping over a branch and smacking against the dirt, again scaring any wildlife around for miles. You chuckled heartily, helping him back up on his feet. "You're still absolutely shit at hunting, though." 

John rolled his eyes, smile on his face as he shoved your shoulder.

* * *

"Micah, when we get back to camp, I need you to take Lenny and head out to Strawberry. Get a layout of who and what's surrounding us." Dutch broke the veil of silence surrounding the company, nodding firmly at Micah. 

"Really, me and the boy?" If Micah was trying to make it a point to hide the disappointment from his voice, he sure wasn't trying very hard.

"Just-go," Dutch said and Arthur couldn't ignore the exhaustion lying thick in his tone. He sighed, making it a mental note to sit down with him and talk things out, as soon as possible. 

Now, though, all that Arthur was really worried about is where you and John went off to. Once the three remaining boys made it to camp, Arthur hitched his horse and hurriedly walked away from the other two before they could pull him into another out-of-nowhere philosophical rant. 

He tried his hardest not to make it obvious he was scouring the camp for you, but that certainly didn't work on Sadie, who smirked at him and told him you were still out with John. He didn't like the thought of what could be holding the two of you up so long, but he tried putting that out of his mind as he looked for anything the camp could provide as a distraction. 

Strauss still had some debtors need paying, didn't he?

* * *

"Good. Now, deep breaths to keep your aim steady. Aim for the back of the front leg..." you whispered soothingly as John slowly followed all your orders, stilling his body with a deep exhale. You nodded, satisfied with his posture. "Now I'm gonna call it's attention, as soon as it lifts it's head, take the shot, okay?" John had made it a beneficial point to tell you he didn't know how to whistle, and you were quick to reassure him and take that part over. In turn, John nodded firmly, keeping his eyes trained on the prey. Quietly, you counted down from three and let out a shrill whistle. As soon as the deer looked up, John let the arrow fly from his bow, and the deer fell in one long swoop. 

You cheered loudly, smiling proudly at John who at first stared silently at the bow as if he couldn't fathom how it's ended up this way till he looked at you, seeing your own smile and ghosting one of his own, twice as big as yours. You laughed heartily, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. "Well go on then, hotshot. Claim your kill." You chuckled giddily as you watched John scramble up and sprint like a madman to the buck, pulling his still intact arrow from it's corpse and holding it above his head for you to see, whooping like an ape. He was just like a kid at this moment, and it made your heart swell to see how happy he was. You knew how hard this life had to be on them, and you didn't envy them a second for it. _You find the happiness in the little things and you hold onto that like a lifeline because sometimes, it's all you got left to smile about._ It's something your father had told you years ago, and it struck you harder than a bullet then. 

You hadn't noticed you were crying till John sauntered back up to you, deer splayed haphazardly over his shoulders and a look of concern on his face. "Aye, you alright?" 

You shook yourself back to your senses, giving him an encouraging smile and nodding. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine. 'Ya just-reminded me of something my Pa told me a lifetime ago, is all." And it was true, sad how long ago that part of your life felt. Like you were standing on the other side of the river and it was slowly floating down the current further from you. And you'd swim and you'd swim for it but no matter how close you got to it, it'd float away right before you could reach it. 

You hoped that some day you'd be able to reach it. 

John gave you an albeit confused, but understanding smile in response, shifting the buck so that it was draped over just one shoulder, holding his free hand out to you. "Well c'mon then, out of the dirt you get darlin'."

You let out a breathy chuckle, wiping at the tear streaks covering your cheeks with the back of your hand before you took his hand, letting him lift you to your feet. "Thanks, John," you smiled genuinely at him and he have a smirk and nod in response. You turned, whistling shrilly to your horse and laughing absently at John's scream for his own. "Can't wait 'till you come riding into camp with that trophy strapped to your horse. What'll Pearson say?" 

"Couldn't have done it without you, (Y/N)," John whispered gratefully, as if the mushiness of the line would've made the trees cringe should he say it out loud. "Really, you'd probably even give Charles a run for his money." 

You chuckled lightly, waving him off. "Now there's a challenge even I couldn't win," you said with a smile. "I had a good teacher," you supplied as you hoisted yourself into Theo's saddle. 

John finished strapping the buck to the back of his horse, then climbed into his own stirrups. "If you don't mind my askin', what had Milton comin' for your parents in the first place?"

You were silent, taken aback slightly by the inquiry and you could see on John's face that he was scrambling for an apology. "No," you stated firmly, waving him off. "No, I don't mind. My Pa, he was an outlaw. My Ma too, come to mention it." 

"No shit?" John's brows raised high. 

You shook your head. "No shit. They didn't really have much choice in the matter, my Pa was born into it and my Ma, well, she ain't had nowhere else to go." _Like mother like daughter,_ your subconscious hissed in your mind like a sting. You winced, trying to push the voice from your mind. "They were outlaws for the better part of 10 years together till my Ma got herself pregnant with me. She was 28. They both agreed that that lifestyle wasn't the right way to raise a baby, and so they left." 

"Just like that?" 

You nodded. "They might'a been outlaws, but the gang my parents ran with were good people." You paused, smiling toward John. "Much like you lot. They let 'em walk. So they took that and doubled it; they ran." Your smile dropped. "But they was real foolish to think you could run fast enough from your past. Karma found 'em soon enough." 

John grunted sympathetically, the both of you listening to the dirt crunch underneath your horses' hooves. "M'real sorry, (Y/N). Bad business." 

You sighed, nodding. "Sure. But that was a long time ago." You shook the tears from your eyes before they could dare fall for the second time. "Way I see it, you gotta take life as it is and run with it as long as you can. There's some things you just can't change and the longer you sit dwelling on it, the less time you got to just be happy about what you got now. So I try not to dwell on it too much, 'side from the fact I want the bastard dead and all." 

John huffed humorously at that. "Can't blame you for that." He paused, turning fully toward you now. "I know your Pa probably didn't picture you kickin' it with a pack a' Outlaws, but I think he'd be real proud of you, (Y/N). Real proud."

Your eyes stung at that, and you offered him a weak smile, feeling your lips tremble. You gave him a genuine nod, looking away as the tears began to fall and John didn't say a thing, letting you feel the comfort between the two of you letting you know that you belong.

By the time you'd gotten a hold of yourself, you both looked up to see the camp in your view. "Well, looks like our trip's about at it's end, then." You offered with mirth, smirking at John. 

"So it seems," John smirked back, nodding. "Thank ya again, (Y/N), for everything. Didn't know I needed someone to talk to this much 'till I did." 

You smiled, giving him a comforting nod. "O'course, John. Anytime." You titled your head toward the camp. "Now go. Brandish your trophy." 

John chuckled, but conceded, giving you a small wave before kicking his horse into gear toward camp. 

You watched after him, a smile on your face.

* * *

By the time you'd gotten back to camp, a small herd of onlookers was surrounding the large buck John had deposited on Pearson's butcher table, smiling proudly and giving John hearty swats on his back. You smiled fondly at the sight, leaving him be to his pride as you peered around the camp for Arthur. Dutch and Hosea's horses were all back at camp, so you'd figured he'd had to be around here somewhere. 

You'd stopped by his tent, but there was no sign of him, so you tried over by the places he'd like to stop and stare, draw in his journal or have a nap by the trees but he was nowhere to be found. You weren't about to ask around camp for him again and make yourself look a fool, or for hushed whispers about the two of you spread further around camp than there probably was, so you only sighed, resigning with the thought that he'd be back eventually. 

You let yourself wander over to the stew pot, grabbing a bowl and had just began biting into it when Strauss walked up next to you, stooping over and pouring himself a cup of coffee. He straightened, eyes landing on you and he gave you a small nod. "Good afternoon to you, (Y/N). I take it you're responsible for the mighty feast John brought us all?" 

You smirked, but shook your head. "Nah, I just showed him a bit about how to go about doing it. He took the shot all his own." 

"Ah. Well, be that as it may, he would not have it if not for you. Often times people overlook the logistics behind the prize, don't pay mind to those who strategized the process into fruition. So, for that, I humbly thank you for your contribution, Miss." 

You, as for most times when you were stuck interacting with Strauss, weren't sure how to respond. Guys like Strauss were far too smart for their own good, and all that intelligence was a dangerous game to play. Can make you out as someone you're not, or amplify what you really were. 

Ultimately, you graced him with a small smile. "If you say so, Mr. Strauss." You watched as he gave you a firm nod, beginning to turn away before desparation got the better of you and you called out for him again. "You don't happen to know where Arthur could've gone off to, do you?" 

You did your best to ignore the judgemental glare Strauss gave you before he gave you a small nod. "Well of course, (Y/N). He's off doing some errands for me." 

You tried keeping the snarl from your features at the mention of his 'errands.' You, as any other struggling American had the right to, hated the business of loan sharks. How they preyed on the weak and desperate, ultimately putting the last nail in their coffin and painting them a pretty enough picture that they don't even know it. 

Still, you kept your judgement at bay, straightening your posture as you parted your lips again. "Who owes us now?" 

"A rancher out of Valentine. Preacher about the art of giving. Load of crock, if you ask me, seeing as he doesn't give a thing in return." Strauss paused to physically show his distaste toward the man before he looked back to you, continuing. "His name is Downes. I sent Arthur out to collect his debt. He should be back shortly." 

Your blood ran cold. "Downes? Like-like Thomas? Thomas and Edith Downes?" 

Strauss looked on at you, confused at your sudden mood change and looking as if he were about to flee before the situation escalated further. "Well, yes. That's them." You gasped, dropping your still full bowl of stew onto the ground, not caring about the bits that flew up and spilled across your legs. Strauss jumped back from the splatter, head whipping back up to you. "(Y/N), are you quite alright?" 

You didn't respond, instead shoving past the few people who'd seen the scene go down, all glaring at you curiously but you had no time to waste trying to explain. 

"No, no no no no," you whispered, springing into Theo's saddles and kicking him into a fury toward where you knew Downes' Ranch lie. 

"Please don't be there, Arthur. Please, for the love of God, please don't be there yet."

There was a resounding crack in the sky as a storm began brewing above your head, the only response to your frantic pleas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight pause in updating: I preordered Assasin's Creed Valhalla and have been obsessively playing it and losing track of the time until it's 3am and I'm passing out falling off mountains. This chapter is a bit longer than most, if that makes up for it a bit.
> 
> Anyway, y'all know how I've been ever so rudely cock-teasing the lot of ya these past couple chapters? It's safe to say I've had my fill of trickin you.  
> So.
> 
> SMUT WARNING 
> 
> It's gonna go quick from OMG you almost died omg I care about you so much to Arthur getting smacked straight in his beautiful little face to a hotel room in Valentine to spoiler wall. 
> 
> Just so you have a feel of what this unorthodox, borderline high as a kite written chapter is going to be about.

Arthur did not care for Strauss's work. 

It was also very fair to say Arthur did not care for Strauss. 

If Arthur had never met Dutch, if he had never saved him from becoming some orphaned street kid begging and robbing for his next meal, then he could say he sees a little bit of himself in these people Strauss sends him to torture. It's pretty insane to picture Arthur as a man of society as it was, but he'd be a fool liar to say he'd never thought about how different life would be if that were true. 

Desperate, alone, trying to survive in a land of law and money-hungry vultures preaching authority as an excuse to beat down on those insubordinate or those less fortunate. 

It wasn't so hard to picture, when he thought about it that way. 

It made Arthur feel real awful for them people less fortunate. It made Arthur hate himself for beating whatever was left out of a man with no hope. It made Arthur hate.

Arthur hated Leopold Strauss.

Still, Dutch asked him to help Strauss. Dutch wanted him to help Strauss. And what Dutch wants, Dutch gets. There's no questioning Dutch, because Dutch saved Arthur. Dutch saved everyone in that camp. 

So Arthur does as Dutch wants. 

He sighed out a long breath, flexing his hands as if preparing them for the beating he was sure would be inevitable; it always was, lifting his head and peering at the darkening clouds in the sky. 

He swore, it's as if nature itself knew whenever he was up to something bad. Every time he'd find himself in a bind, or find himself questioning his own conscience, it's as if mother nature was trying it's damndest to give him his answer. 

But Arthur didn't really think Dutch or Strauss would take kindly to him coming back empty handed with no better excuse than: "My mom said no." 

And so he steered his horse on.

* * *

Downes Ranch was certainly-more than Arthur expected. Though, that wasn't really saying much. Anyone desperate enough to borrow from someone like Leopold Strauss really shouldn't have had much in the way of renown. 

But this? A full sized family cottage, corn farms and cattle roaming the plains surrounding the house and even a well-sized barn near the edge of the property, was much much more than he'd seen before. The fact that he could've started with so much and then lost enough control to sell his soul to a loan shark was another telling reason why Arthur could never envision himself enjoying civilian life. 

Thomas Downes had humiliated him after that drunken bar fight with Javier, Bill and Charles a few weeks ago. Now all Bill can talk about is how Arthur had "gone soft," that he was a "hazard," "someone you couldn't trust to take on hard jobs no more." 

Downes had soiled his reputation. Downes had made Arthur doubt himself. No matter how desecrated whatever disease Thomas Downes had contracted had made him, Arthur had made this mission personal, and one he'd rather enjoy. 

He spit mindlessly into the floor as he hoisited himself out of his stirrups, clicking his tongue at his thoroughbred and watching as it turned, walking away from him toward the road stretching away from the house. He sighed, flexing his hands again as he slowly sauntered closer to the ranch. 

It seemed pretty empty at first, but then a carefree, tuneless whistle unwittingly gave his victim away. Arthur set his jaw with purpose as he quickened his steps, stopping just outside the wooden gate separating him from his target. 

"Thomas Downes?" 

He watched with narrowed eyes as Downes startled, head whipping over his shoulder and eyes wide as he took account of who exactly it was that was behind him. "Y-yes?"

Arthur hated hurting innocent people. Really, he wasn't _entirely_ heartless. 

But Downes wasn't really all that innocent, was he? Running out on debts and hiding like a coward from his responsibilities? 

No, Downes was a nosey, opinionated, do-no-evil poser and Arthur hadn't a second mind for his like. 

He sneered, sadistic smirk on his lip as he slowly opened the gate to Downes' field. 

"You owe me money." 

* * *

Your heart beat painfully in your chest, lungs burning as you very nearly dislocated your ankle tearing your feet away from your horse's stirrups. You sprinted through the lava in your lungs toward Arthur, who was currently crouching over a rather limp looking form sprawled on the floor. You heart pained in regret, guilt that you hadn't gotten there sooner, hadn't been there to stop him sooner, hadn't been able to warn Arthur before- 

You sprang on him, wrapping your hands firmly around his shoulders and bodily yanking his body back with enough force you were actually able to drag him several feet back before the initial shock dwindled and Arthur regained enough control over himself to react, squirming out of your touch and whipping back to face you. The hard, murderous glare in his eyes immediately softened into shocked curiosity as he realized it was you standing before him. 

"Princess, wha-?" He began, but he was abruptly cut off by the strangled sob making its way out of your mouth, confusion only worsening his features as he cautiously reached out to you. Your entire body trembled, and you would've most definitely fell straight into the dirt if Arthur hadn't noticed and tightened his grip on you, holding you steady as he softly shooshed you, moving to stand in front of you and wrapped his arms securely around you. "Hey, hey what's goin' on, Princess?" He cooed. "What're you even doin' here?" 

You blinked through the erratic tears in your eyes to see Downes staring up at you, eyes wide and mouth agape and immense relief flooded over you as you saw that there was no physical markings anywhere on Downes' face or body. You _had_ gotten there in time. "Arthur," you whispered breathlessly through your sobs, trying hard to swallow your still-prevalent sobs and get your breathing back under control. Arthur only tightened his grip around you, nodding slowly against your cheek to acknowledge he heard you. 

"Take yer time, Princess. S'okay, s'okay." 

"Arthur," you tried again, barely better but you had to take the reigns and ride with it before you completely crumbled, "please tell me you haven't touched him yet. Tell me he hasn't, hasn't spit on you, or-or bled or did _anything_ to you. Tell me," you pushed against his shoulders, staring him hard in the face, "tell me I wasn't too late." 

Arthur's brows were furrowed with two parts confusion and one part worry as his summer blues scanned you in shock. Slowly, he shook his head. "No, no I haven't even touched-" 

You sighed in complete relief, body almost aching in relief and you felt yourself weighed down with exhaustion as your body instantly calmed, but none of that mattered as you felt Arthur's arms wrapped tightly around you, his warmth radiating chills down your skin and his eyes fixed so intently on you. You laughed in utter glee as you shook your head, cutting off whatever nothings he was muttering to you with a strong, determined kiss on his lips. 

He yelped in surprise, but almost immediately joined in on the kiss with completely matched passion, digging in deeper and running his palm-spread hands in continuous circles around the small of your back. 

You finally broke away from the kiss, eyes half lidded in euphoric exhaustion as you suddenly realized where you were and what you were doing, taking care to glance over Arthur's shoulder with blooming red cheeks at Thomas Downes. He was, for his part, mainly confused but there was still, being the kind of person he was, a warm smile on his face at the sight of two happy matches in front of him. 

You cleared you throat slightly, extracting yourself from Arthur's grip and brushing past him, crouching down to be eye-level with Downes. "Hi," you started and cringed slightly at your awkward tone, "I know nothing you just saw made a lick of sense to you, but," you stuck you hand slowly out to him. "I don't know if you remember me, but my dad used to work with you, helped you out around your ranch. The name's (Y/N)." 

Immediately, Thomas's face washed over with realization, and a delighted smile spread across his lips. "My Lord, is that really you? You were so little the last time I saw you, barely past your daddy's knee! Always had such a pretty little smile on your face, chasing after your dad to help whenever you could." He smiled fondly, brushing your polite gesture away and slamming you into a tight hug. "Ah, I missed your little self so much, I didn't hear about your dad till much later and by then, I thought you were-" he trailed off, eyes radiating a small lapse of sadness before he blinked it away and smiled again. "It's real good to see you again, (Y/N)." 

You returned his smile with one of your own, nodding slightly at him before you sighed, fishing around in your satchel and pulling out a small bottle of health cure and a handful of ground-up yarrow and ginseng. You smiled slightly with your eyes, holding them out in front of you. "I heard about your illness, and I-" you sighed sadly as you saw Downes slightly shrink into himself, "I'm real sorry, Thomas. Please, let me help relieve some of that pain, if I can. For everything you did for my Ma and Pa."

You were almost certain Downes was going to cry before he sighed, nodding and gingerly taking the items from your hands. "Thank you, (Y/N)." 

"Don't thank me," you replied firmly as you held his gaze again. "You deserve this, and more. How much do you still owe that man, Strauss?" 

"Princess," Arthur interjected gruffly but a hard glare sent at him over your shoulder had him reluctantly relenting. 

You looked back to see Thomas, eyes wide as he slowly shook his head at you. "I couldn't possibly-" 

"I'm not taking no for an answer, Thomas Downes. You didn't have to do what you did for my family, especially considering their situation and the fact you had a family yourself you had to protect. You did more for me than I can even say, and I want to know how much you owe Leopold Strauss." 

Thomas was silent for a while, eyes evident of the battle going on in his head before he sighed, looking down at the dirt below him. "$50."

"Consider it paid," you said without hesitation, standing swiftly on your feet and helping him up to his. 

He stared shocked silent at you, shaking his head. "You don't have to-"

"But I'm going to." You broke him off. "Give Edith a hug hello for me, would you?" 

Thomas, still shocked, let out a breath that could pass as a chuckle, teary eyes scrunched up under his smile. "Of-of course I will." 

You smiled again, squeezing his shoulder slightly before you turned halfway toward Arthur, nodding toward your horse. "We should go, 'fore this storm gets too out of hand.''

Arthur glanced minutely between you and Downes, sighing dejectedly before he trudged away toward the horses and whistling for his, grabbing the reigns of yours and walking him closer to his own. 

You gave Thomas a firm nod. "Take care of yourself, Mr. Downes." 

He smiled, happy sob passing through his lips. "And you too, (Y/N)." 

You tipped your hat slightly and then turned away, walking proudly toward Arthur and your horse. 

* * *

The ride between Downes Farm and Valentine was relatively silent, but you could feel Arthur's hard glare fixated on you all the way. 

You finally were fed up of it when Valentine's post office came into view, and you sighed, rearing Theo around so that you were facing him. 

"Thomas Downes helped my father earn money after he left his outlaw gang shortly after I was born. Downes knew my father was an outlaw and still risked his own safety for strangers he'd felt personal responsibility for. Even though he had a family himself, even though he didn't have much in the way of money, he'd give anything and everything he could to my father and he was more of a man than I've ever met. He deserves not to have to live whatever is left of his life in perpetual fear that he'll leave his wife and child with nothing but a crippling debt to remember him by. That's why I'm paying it and saying it's from Downes, and you won't say a damned thing about it." 

Arthur cocked a brow, but shrugged. "I wasn't questioning you about that." 

You worried at your lip, sighing before you relented and looked vulnerably at him. "Thomas Downes has tuberculosis. I-I've heard how you and the rest of you boys..deal with debtors, and when Strauss told me where you'd gone off to," you gulped as you felt a sob began to build again in your throat, "I was terrified for you." You spread your hands palm-up to him, showing off the already blistering skin from the vice-like grio you had on Theo's reigns all the way from Horseshoe to the ranch. "I had to get to you, stop you before you-before he could-" you swallowed hard, worrying at your fingers and dropping your glance to them, "I had to save you, if I could. I care for you, Arthur Morgan. Deeply."

Arthur looked completely taken back at the admission, worrying his mouth as if he had something to say but couldn't find the words. You smirked pitifully at him, offering him a small chuckle. 

"S'okay, Arthur. You don't gotta say nothing back. I just thought I owed you some kinda explanation for showin' up and taking over control unannounced." Before you could have any other emotion from Arthur, the sky cracked loudly and the clouds split open, torrent of rain pouring hard down from the sky and pelting the both of you. Theo spooked at the crash, rearing up and nearly bucking you straight off your saddle before you felt Arthur's steadying hand pushing against the small of your back and his other hand reached out, tugging hard at Theo's reigns and getting him to a standstill. 

You nodded your thanks at him, hand shielding your eyes as you scanned the angry grey clouds over you. "We should find some shelter and wait this out, could get real ugly." As if proving your point, thunder clashed again and a loud, booming noise erupted somewhere off to your left and lightning struck something. 

"We can grab a room at Valentine's motel," Arthur yelled over the loud rain. "Stay there for the night." 

You nodded your agreement, kicking your heels into Theo's side. "Let's get there, then." 

* * *

"Hey," Arthur yelled from behind you and as you slowed your horse, startled to see that he was somehow right next to you, hand outstretched toward you. You cocked a brow, holding out your palm and Arthur dropped four quarters into your palm. "Go ahead and rent us a room, I got something I need taken care of right quick." 

You scoffed in disbelief, gesturing wildly to the sky. "In this? Can it wait?" 

"Maybe it can, but I can't," Arthur said with a firm tone of finality that made it impossible to argue with him. "I'll be fine. Just rent us a room and get yourself out of them soaked clothes. I'll meet up with you soon." 

You could've argued, but at the mention of wet clothes, your body shivered in response and you merely sighed, nodding. "Don't spend too much time out here, you'll catch hypothermia at this rate." 

Arthur only tipped his hat at you in response, backing his horse away and trotting off into the distance. You sighed, squinting through the onslaught of rain and thunder as you steered Theo toward the stables. You were a frequent enough customer that the stable hand didn't even need to inquire, grabbing Theo's reigns as soon as you'd stepped off your saddle and leading him toward the stables. You smiled at the stable owner, giving him a small salute before you stepped back out, jogging through the slippery mud underneath you, scraping the caked mud from your feet against the side of the stairs leading to the motel. You then burst through the doors, quickly shutting them behind you and offering the man behind the counter as polite a smile you could over the quivering of your lips. 

"Hey there," you greeted, slapping Arthur's money down on the counter and slapping an extra quarter down with it. "I'm in need of a room, and a hot bath if you don't mind." 

The man nodded understandably, scooping the quarters into his hand and offering you a once-over. "You gonna need an extra set of nightclothes to stay in, miss?" 

You could've cried in relief, nodding emphatically. "Yes please, that'd be awfully kind of you." 

The man smiled back. "Of course. There'll be a set lying folded on a table next to the tub, whenever you're ready for that bath. No extra charge." 

You thanked him once again, and upon entering the bath room, chuckled at the literalness of the man-there was indeed a set of clothes folded nicely next to the tub full of steaming, inviting bubbly water. The clothes were warm too, although that may just be because of how absolutely freezing you were. They were silky to the touch, back in color and although they seemed a bit too- _alluring_ for a set of nightclothes, you couldn't complain much. You shrugged bodily out of your damped clothes, eagerly jumping in the tub and sighing in relief as the steaming water surrounded your freezing limbs. 

You spent a considerable amount of time soaking in your bath, and only reluctantly made yourself leave when the water grew to be cold. You slipped into the warm silk night set and ducking from the tub, wet clothes draped over your arm and boots hanging from your free hand. You padded barefoot quickly toward your rented room, ducking into it and hanging your clothes up in the closet area before you sighed, looking around the room. Valentine's motel didn't offer any rooms with more than one bed, but they did offer rooms with beds bigger than a single. You'd managed to buy the room with the biggest bed, a queen sized with red satin sheets and a large, welcoming warm comforter splayed across the top. 

You found yourself gravitating toward the bed, and before you even knew it, you were bundled tightly up in its covers, finding your eyelids extremely heavy and before a normal bystander could blink, you found yourself sinking peacefully into a deep, dreamless slumber.

* * *

Arthur sighed out a shaky breath, shaking his body to keep whatever warmth he could in his limbs as he ducked under the covering over Mary's porch. The chills he felt were certainly due in part to the state of his clothes, of course, but he wouldn't argue with anyone mentioning it was about something else, either. 

Nerves, a small pang of guilt, and genuine fear were playing right into the bone-aching cold he was feeling now, but he kept his breathing as level as possible as he walked up to Mary's front door, banging relentlessly over the loud crashing of thunder and lightning behind him. 

He vaguely heard surprised shuffling from inside, and stepped back slightly as the door was yanked open, revealing a slightly disheveled and frustrated Mary on the other side. Her eyes widened in shock when she saw it was Arthur banging on her door, and she let out a small gasp. "Arthur? What are you doing here? Can't you see there's a mighty storm out?" Her eyes trailed judgmentally over him, and she slowly inched away from the door, opening it wider. "C'mon, get inside before you catch cold-"

"No," Arthur insisted firmly, cutting Mary off with a surprised glare his way. "No, I'm fine. I wouldn't to intrude, I just came by to-tell you something." 

Mary quirked a suspicious brow, tilting her head. "And this couldn't wait until God was finished with his temper tantrum?"

Arthur shook his head firmly. "No," he said humorlessly and it sucked the smile straight from Mary's eyes, and she stood up straight as a board then, eyes hard on him. 

"So what is it then, Arthur?" 

"I gave you a ring, Mary." Arthur started obviously, and Mary only nodded, eyebrows raised expectantly. "I was ready to marry you, to love you for the rest of my life. I cared for you, so deeply I saw myself leaving everything I knew just to be able to have you on my arm." 

A small tendril of realization ghosted Mary's features, and her brows narrowed slightly. "Arthur-"

"You always told me that you said no because I couldn't, wouldn't change. You put the blame all on me." 

"This outburst is certainly uncalled for, Arthur," Mary dejected almost desparately, as if she was stalling Arthur from what he was about to say, as if she knew. 

Arthur knew she knew.

"But it wasn't me that wasn't willing to change, Mary. It was never me." He stood straighter, fitting his hat back on his head. "You weren't willing to make a change yourself, weren't willing to spend the rest of your life with me-the real me, so you spun lies, pinned it all on me so that you wouldn't have to admit that you didn't care for me half as much as I did you." 

"That-that's not-"

"I met someone else." The silence between them was deafening, Mary dejected and Arthur giving it a few seconds for that finality to sink in. "Someone who cares for me, someone who wants nothing but the best for me. Someone who would sacrifice anything to keep me safe, to keep me happy. And-I owe you an apology." Mary glared up at him, tears trapped in her waterline. "When I was with you, I told you I loved you. But I realize now that I had no idea what love really meant. I know what it means now, Mary. And it ain't the same feeling as what I got towards you." He sighed, fixing his jaw as he watched Mary swipe at her eyes, head lowered to her feet. "There's a fine line between caring for someone and loving them, and you just-I know now that you don't stretch past that line. And I told you, swore to you once that you did. And I'm sorry for lying to you."

Mary was silent, despondent as she wavered on her feet, her sniffles and the pattering of rain against the roof of the porch the only real noises shared between the two. Finally, she lifted her head, eyes rimmed red as she looked to Arthur. "Would you like the ring back?" 

Arthur gulped, nails squeezing into the flesh of his palms before he sighed, shaking his head. "No. No, you keep it. Something to remember me by, to remember those first few months. I came to apologize, but I have to thank you too. Because those first few months, Mary, were some of the happiest months of my life. And I'll always remember how that felt. But I'm not entirely certain you will. So, if you want to remember, keep it. Keep it, or sell it." He offered her a small smile. "Burn the thing if you're so inclined." 

Mary smiled through the single tear stringing down her cheek, chuckling slightly. "We'll have to see, won't we?" Arthur watched as her smile slowly faded, the moment she realized that she'd waited far too long to let herself feel for him, and then the moment she realized it was too late. It was almost too painful for Arthur to watch, but he bit hard on his tongue and steeled himself to the floor. "If things had been different, if you had just-" 

"If you were stronger and didn't live for your daddy, if you hadn't taken so long to realize how much you loved me, you mean? If you hadn't used me as some mediator to your family problems and then left me alone to my pain at that train station? Then you're right, maybe things would have been different." 

Mary's face bloomed red, and Arthur didn't even flinch as her hand made contact hard against his cheek, sweltering heat radiating from the impact but Arthur only licked the inside of his cheek, hardening his face against Mary's seething glare. "Be kind to me. You owe me that, at least." 

"I gave you everything I was, Mary Linton. I owe you nothing." He stepped back, turning slightly on his heel. "Sell the ring. It was worth a small fortune." 

He didn't wait for a response before he raced back to his horse, trotting through the rain towards the motel, where you were awaiting his return inside.

* * *

You slowly swam back to consciousness to the feeling of feathering touches, a small tickle to your arm, then felt as fingertips pressed gently to your cheekbone, trailing a soft line across them. You let out a small sigh, eyelids fluttering open to see Arthur crouched down on the floor beside the bed, tranquil smile on his face as he looked down at you with such an amorous look you could've squealed. 

"Arthur?" You asked slowly through a yawn, blinking languidly at him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep, this bed is just so lovely that I," that's when you noticed the puddle growing at his feet. You sat up. "What're you-you need to get yourself out of those clothes before you-"

"I ended things with Mary." 

You let out a shocked gasp, eyes wide as saucers as you stated at him. "You did what?" 

"You were willing to sacrifice everything for me the moment you thought I was in danger. What you did today made me realize that I-" he smiled those slightly blue lips as if the shivers racking his body meant nothing to him, "I adore you, Princess. Absolutely adore you."

You felt tears sting your eyes at the admission, felt as your heart pounded in your chest, butterflies in your stomach and felt as if you were swimming in air,but still your hands found their way to his soaked shirt. "We need to get these off you and you need a nice, hot bath." 

Arthur looked almost offended at you brushing off the admission. "Aren't you listening to me? I said I-" 

"As do I, Arthur. More than you know. But if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not have to love a frostbitten corpse because he was too stubborn to keep warm." You tugged him up, taking his hand and leading him out the room and toward the front counter. "You get yourself warm, and then we'll talk some more 'bout what you said, yeah?" You glanced at the man at the counter again, averted your eyes to Arthur's shivering form and upon looking back at the man, he was already holding out a bathroom key to you. You smiled thankfully, fishing a quarter out of Arthur's satchel and tossing it toward him before you handed the key to Arthur. "There. Now get yourself taken care of. There'll be a fresh change of warm clothes waiting for you inside." 

Arthur turned toward you, but relented, sighing and disappearing down the hall toward the bathroom. 

"You two honeymooning?" 

You startled, giving the hotel owner a questioning glare. 

He smirked slightly. "If I were y'all, I woulda chosen a more-scenic venture than Valentine, like Saint Denis. But I won't ignore Valentine has its certain charms."

You opened your mouth slightly, but only offered the man a sigh in response before you walked away.

* * *

Arthur found that he was slowly dozing off in his bath before a slight knocking at the door jarred him awake. 

"You need some help in there, sugar?" 

In his sleep-addled state, he couldn't recognize the voice past a slight murmur in his chest. "Ah, no thanks. Maybe another time." 

The shadow under the door didn't leave. "Are you sure, honey? It'd be-" the voice got closer as he heard a small growl in her whispered tone, "it'd be my absolute pleasure, Arthur Morgan." 

Realization hit him like a big man throwing him through a glass window now, and he felt himself smirking hungrily as he fluttered his eyes shut, stretching back against the tub. "Well, I guess it couldn't hurt." 

He didn't open his eyes as the door opened and closed, didn't move as the footsteps drew nearer to him until they stopped just outside the tub. Didn't even breathe until a hand made contact with the bare skin of his torso, then he let out a small gasp as his eyes fluttered open to the lovely sight of you, bare naked and smiling, eyes telling and hungry as you winked. 

"Couldn't wait till I was finished, could ya?" Arthur almost growled at you, eyes lustful as they hungrily leered over your body. You felt the chills crawl up your spine under his gaze.

"I've never been one for patience, Mr. Morgan. Always found sitting and waiting to feel quite..." your hand traveled down under the water until it was dangerously close to his length, and you reveled in the reaction it drew from him, "long." 

He chuckled darkly in spite of his vulnerability, confident smirk on his face like a challenge and you certainly took the bait, matching it with one of your own before, without warning, you hand was stroking smooth against his thick, long shaft. The smirk dissolved into worrying his bottom lip, groaning lowly as his eyes fluttered shut, upper body riding up against the porcelain wall of the tub and hips lifting off the bottom of the tub as they lurched up to meet your touch. 

You chuckled lowly, removing your hand against his protests, shushing him with a smirk on your lips before you stood, bringing a leg over the side of the tub and Arthur eagerly spread his legs apart to grant you room as your other leg came over the tub. The two of you ignored the large amount of water that lapped out of the tub and splashed against the hardwood floor as you sunk down to rest between his legs, and he refused to break eye contact with you as you leaned forward, one hand going back to stroking along his shaft and the other wrapping around his neck as you leaned forward on your knees, pulling his head slightly forward and eagerly crashing your lips against his. 

He dived hungrily into the kiss, not long after his lips parted open more and his tongue found its way prodding against the center of your own lips and you happily relented, allowing him again to taste you. You smiled against his lips, your free hand sliding down for the head of his length and slowly tracing circles around the tip. Arthur groaned lowly against your lips, teeth boring into your bottom lip as he sighed euphorically. You answered with your own moan of pleasure as you felt the tip of his dick grow colder and a small bit of liquid that you could discern was not water against the pad of you thumb. You ducked your head, lips sucking at the hot, smooth skin at his neck and he gasped slightly, hands reaching up and cupping against your breasts. 

You sighed out a gasp, tongue sweeping across his neck and biting down on a patch of skin when you felt Arthur squeeze firm against your breast. He sighed, his breath hot against the corner of your neck as you sucked hard against the spot you'd claimed, relishing in the way he squirmed to offer more of his neck to you in kind. 

Not a second after you'd released his skin from your teeth did Arthur overtake you, pushing you back against the other end of the tub. You felt yourself lurch forward at the feel of Arthur's fingers trailing down and a curled knuckle rubbing slightly just over your heat. Your hips jarred as his fingers rubbed at the bundle of nerves near your entrance and you lifted yourself up, leaning more into him as you begged wordlessly for him to continue. He obliged immediately, and you bit back the long moan in your throat as you felt one of his digits slide slowly into you, trailing small circles around your clit. Soon after, a second finger joined and then a third, before you could feel yourself losing all control over the intense stimulation. Your eyes fluttered closed, your breathing quickening sharply and you clawed deeply against Arthur's muscular arms. You sighed out a shaky breath, pushing your hips away and then further against him, thrusting against his fingers before you felt your lips forming his name. "Arthur. Arthur, I-" your voice trembled deeply, and you couldn't find yourself able to form words over the feel of Arthur's fingers trailing over your clit in such a welcoming pattern.

You felt as his free hand came up to tangle inside your hair, stroking against your scalp and then his breath was right above your neck. "You what, Princess? What do you want from me? What do you _need?"_

A tremor passed deeply from your head straight to your toes, and you sighed out a languid breath, eyes opening only slightly and staring straight into his big, beautiful summer blues as you parted your lips, "I need you. Inside me. Now."

He smiled brilliantly, bright white teeth so unbelievably beautiful as they sparkled at you, and he nodded once. "Of course. Anything for my Princess." 

You gasped loudly, not giving a single care to whoever could be hearing you now as you felt Arthur's length slowly slide into you. He stared straight into your eyes the whole time, as if making sure this was still okay even though you'd more than consented to him. In response, you only bit hard into your bottom lip, lifting your hips and pushing yourself further forward, pushing his dick farther into you. He growled dominately, hands grabbing at your hips and he pushed as much as he could into you, marveling at how loose you were as his grip tightened harder against your hips, and then he was suddenly thrusting himself into you. You whimpered almost every time he'd pull himself further out of you, and in response, he'd thrust himself back into you harder each time. 

Your hips jarring to mimic his movements, your hands found whatever length he couldn't fit inside you and he let a gasp escape his lips as you thrust your hands up and down against the exposed skin, one hand wrapped around his remaining shaft and the other hand finding it's way up to his balls, massaging them between your fingers. 

His breath came out in pants now, and you felt as his head fell forward, burrowing into the crook of your neck and his hot breaths curled and trapped themselves against the curve of your breasts. "(Y/N)," he whined mutely. "Princess, I-I'm gonna-" 

You nodded hard against him, one hand releasing his balls and lifting it so that it was tangled in his hair. You grabbed a fistful of his hair, released it and then bundled it up in your palm again. "Do it," you whispered breathlessly. 

Ever the listener, Arthur relented and immediately, you felt as he released, his teeth boring into the flesh of your neck as his warmth spilled into you, filling your stomach. You moaned deeply, hands pulling deep into his hair and his grip on your neck tightened as his load continued to release inside of you. 

You only noticed that you too had cum when the most of his cum had spilled inside of you, his dick almost limp inside of you when you felt your own stick spill out of you, dripping out and drowning against your thighs. Arthur let out a languid, loving grunt as he acknowledged your orgasm, head slumping back against your neck as he slowly pulled out of you, all but collapsing against you. 

You smiled, slow and exhausted as one hand wrapped against his frame slumped against you, other hand stroking through his hair. Your eyes closed, you felt as Arthur's breath began to slow as your own breathing began to follow in pace, your heartbeats slowing against each other's chests and it took everything left in you to shake yourself back to consciousness, shaking Arthur as well. 

"Probably isn't the best idea to fall asleep in a tub, love," you whispered against the top of his hair, giving it a long, warm kiss. 

He grunted, barely above consciousness as he lifted his head only to pillow it against your left breast. "Don't wanna move," he mumbled barely above a whisper. 

You chuckled lowly, stroking his hair one more time before you sighed, extracting yourself from him and sitting up against the back of the tub. "C'mon sleepyhead, we got a whole comfy ass bed waiting for us just upstairs. We can cuddle there." 

At that, you felt as Arthur stirred himself to half wakefulness, slowly lifting himself off of you. You chuckled at the sight of him, completely exhausted and eyes barely open enough for him to navigate his way out the tub without falling flat on his face. That's not to say anything about your own state, you'd sooner fall asleep on your feet if you both didn't pull your nightclothes back on right now.

"Never worn silk before," Arthur mumbled as he picked at his shirt, rubbing the fabric between his index finger and thumb. 

"Extremely comfortable, isn't it? Like stuff straight from the clouds?" Arthur nodded emphatically in agreement, and you chuckled behind a yawn. "We'll have to see about getting some more of these suits, yeah? Not to mention the absolute wonder it does for your ass," you added quickly and smiled as Arthur looked over his shoulder at you to smirk. You pushed slightly past Arthur, fiddling the key into the lock of your door until it latched, pushing it open with your shoulder and standing back. "After you," you mimed politely to Arthur, smile on your face as you teased him. 

"With pleasure," he responded through a yawn, shoving you playfully aside and marching into the room, plopping bodily across the bed. You chuckled lightly, closing the door and locking it behind you, hanging Arthur's clothes up beside yours. You flipped off the room lights, closing the window blinds. By the time you got back to the bed, Arthur was already slightly snoring, still stretched across the entire bed.

You laughed gleefully at the adorable sight of him, jabbing him hard in the side. "Hey, lardass. Scoot yourself over, you're all over my side." 

He merely grunted, but slowly obliged, dragging his exhausted body in a rather dramatic, but still comedic way until he was stretched across only half the bed, kicking the covers until they covered only his feet. You rolled your eyes, smiling as you slid into bed beside him and pulled the covers up around the both of you. You turned on your side, bundling a pillow under your head and plopping down on it, closing your eyes. 

Arthur's breathing was incredibly slow, to the very cusp of unconsciousness but just before he could sink into sleep, you felt as the bed dipped and he turned toward you, wrapping an arm around your torso and pulling you into his chest. His other arm trailed to rest under your head, and his head burrowed into your neck, breaths sending shivers down your front. 

"I love you, (Y/N)," he slurred, much more asleep than awake at this point. "M'gonna marry yew sum'day."

His breathing immediately stilled into snores, your heart swelling to ten times it's size. You let that last response lull you quickly into a peaceful sleep of your own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot N Cold by Katy Perry came on while I was writing this and I had a nostalgic dance contest with myself. Just thought y'all should know that.


	11. Chapter 11

"...And John, I jus' feel real awful for him. He's a man that wants love so bad but can't see he's already had it. Can still have it if he'd just open his damn eyes and own up to things." 

"Mmm, we just had sex and now you wanna talk about _Marston?"_

You startled, head whipping across your pillow to see Arthur, laying on his stomach and half his face smashed into the pillow, eyes still closed but the tiniest of smiles tilting the corner of his lips. "Arthur, you're awake?" 

"Nope," he grunted groggily. "Just real great at sleeptalking." 

You rolled your eyes, hiding your smile behind your teeth as you gave his shoulder a slight slap. "Since when?"

Arthur shifted on one arm, moving to lay on his back as he stretched out his limbs, blanket falling to rest just above his waist and you caught yourself staring at the tanned surface of skin that was exposed as his shirt rolled up with his movements. He let out a long sigh, eyes still closed as he parted his lips. "How long 'go was it when you started talkin' bout how Theo tried eating 'yer hair straight off your head?" 

You smirked. "At least three stories ago." 

"Two and a half stories ago, then," Arthur retorted snidely, finally moving to face you on his side, beautiful sleepy blues opening to focus on you. 

"And you didn't say anything?"

Arthur shrugged, face serious as his eyes scanned your face. "I like listening to you."

You blushed, then found yourself once again getting lost in those pretty oceans so you sighed, lifting your head so that it was being supported by one hand. "So what're we gonna do about John?" 

"Wasn't aware I had to do a thing 'bout him," Arthur said almost firmly, eyebrow cocked skeptically. 

You groaned, scrunching your nose incredulously. "That whole attempt at acting like you hate him ain't fooling nobody, Arthur. C'mon, he's hurtin' real bad and I know I ain't the only one that can hear Abigail cryin' when she thinks everyone's asleep." 

"Ain't something I see bein' my problem, nor somethin' either of us should involve eachother in." 

You huffed a disappointed breath lifting your head off your hand just to slam it back against the pillows, drawing the covers up over your chest and folding your arms. "You're no help." 

"M'afraid I ain't," Arthur murmured softly as he leaned forward, hot breaths hitting the surface of your neck and sending small spikes down your back. 

He kissed at the nape of your neck, and maybe you wanted him to stop, but then your body betrayed you and you lifted your head further up, slightly leaning into his kiss as you offered more of your skin to him. "Screw your help then, I'm still going to involve myself." 

"Mmm," Arthur huffed noncomittaly, leaning himself more forward so he was now peppering kisses on your Adam's apple. "Don't surprise me a bit." 

"But how am I gonna go about doin' it? I mean Abigail's real nice and all, but we ain't really talked much." Arthur moved to straddle your body between his legs as he gingerly grabbed the cusps of your wrists and lifted them away from your chest as his kisses trailed down your sternum now. "Guess I could start there. Get a feel of how she really feels 'bout that wolf snack at least." A wet, hot kiss through the thin silk fabric just under your right breast. "Or maybe I should just get to the root of it all and smack some sense into that boy. Abigail might be a little too harsh but she really ain't the problem here." Your bellybutton now, you twitched slightly as you were ticklish in the area surrounding it. "Y'all force him too much. I could always try just talkin' to him, getting him to see things clearly without-" you breath hitched as Arthur slowly pulled down the cuff of your pajama bottoms, laying a kiss just above the elastic of your underwear. You tried your hardest to ignore it, stubborn till the end. "Without threatenin' bodily harm like the lot of you do. That'll probably work well 'nuff, won't it? Ye-" Arthur's fingers trailed up to pull ever so slightly at the top of your panties and you realized subconsciously that you weren't confirming your plan at all anymore~" _yes,"_ you mumbled breathlessly, hands knotting into Arthur's hair as you felt his tongue swipe teasingly over your folds.

"You worry too much 'bout making sure everyone else is happy, Princess'," Arthur whispered lowly, and you felt the chills riding up your body as his hot breath ghosted just above your heat. "Why don't you try takin' care of _yourself_ for once?" 

Your eyes fluttering shut, your lips formed his name and you felt your toes curl in on themselves, your nails digging through the fabric on his back and into his skin as his tongue continued exploring you.

* * *

"It's not like I want the little gal to get hurt, Hosea. You should know me better than that." 

Hosea huffed defiantly, glaring at Dutch as they both struggled to keep their quarrel to minimum value. "That's the issue, Dutch. I _should_ know you better. But with things transpiring the way they have recently, I feel like I don't know you at all." 

Dutch groaned, scrubbing at his tired eyes. "Not this again."

"It'll keep coming up until you face it, Dutch." Hosea sighed exasperatedly, reaching out and squeezing one of Dutch's gloves hands tightly in his. "You've known me for well over 30 years now, Dutch. Arthur for damn near 20. Micah suddenly pops up and 6 months later you're at his beck and call begging for table scraps." 

Dutch glared menacingly at Hosea. "This dissolving into another 'what happened to dear Dutch' lecture? Cuz if it is; spare me, please. I hear that enough from you and Arthur as it is."

"We worry about you, Dutch," Hosea whispered softly, giving his hand a squeeze. "That's all. What went down in Blackwater, now that simply isn't like you. We've been in worst places before, sure, but you ain't never lost your head like that. And the Dutch I know would never willingly send Arthur out to danger alone like that. Do you think that maybe-" Hosea sighed, tossing his head over his shoulders before he leaned in as close as he could to Dutch, "maybe Micah ain't the person you think he is?" 

Dutch swallowed hard, eyes scrutinizing Hosea for a long while before he was the first of them to finally move, Dutch dropping his hand out of Hosea's and sighing exhausted, crashing back against his bed roll in a tired lump. "I'll think of some other way to get Milton alone." 

Hosea didn't bother hiding the beam from his face. "That's good-''

"But you and Arthur ain't allowed to come to me about your personal vendetta against Micah no more." His glare was hard as he set it on Hosea. "Either you two let go of that petty bullshit and look past his bluster to his heart, or you go back to your conspiratorial tea talks. I've had enough of that." 

Hosea parted his lips to argue, but instead bit down on his tongue, swallowing. "Get some sleep, Dutch." Dutch blinked once at him, and Hosea shook his head. "You can't stop me from caring about you, and that's final. Get some sleep and we'll talk more when you're rested." 

"Dutch! Hosea, we got some visitors!" Both heads popped up at the sound of Lenny's yelling, and they spared a quizzical glance at eachother before they both stood, walking to Dutch's tent flap and slowly peeling it open.

There, in the center of everyone still around the camp, was none other than Agent Milton, with another man Arthur had mentioned seeing recently. Ross. Both glaring at the outlaws cornering them, staring up at Hosea and Dutch with a purpose in their eyes. 

"Dutch Van der Linde. I have to admit, you're pretty good at turning tail and running. Took a bit to find you, this time. Can't really think we'd never catch up with you, could y-" 

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Agent Milton ? Agent Ross." Dutch, despite Hosea's protests, walked closer to the pair, hands bare and raised at his sides. Every new step he took, the gang members tightened their grips on their guns, John clicking the safety off his revolver as Dutch walked to stand in front of him. 

"We don't want to kill all of you. Just you, Dutch. We take you, we give all the rest of you three days to leave and never look back." Milton sneered, elbowing Ross who looked more than ready to fire his rifle at Charles' head. 

"Is that so? Then I'll be more than happy to accompany you. Sorry, friends, but I seem to have an appointment with Mr.-" 

Every single gun clicked and raised toward the two agents, Hosea grabbing Dutch's shoulder and pushing him back to stand beside him. 

"I can't imagine you brought just your buddy here if kidnapping Dutch was your plan." Hosea snarked, titling his head toward Milton. "What's your real motive?" 

Milton paused, small humorless smile stretching across the corner of his lip. "See, and that's why I hear they call you the brains to Dutch's brawn. Very astute you are, for being an outlaw for life and all." 

"Enough with the flattery, Milton." Dutch grumbled, narrowing his eyes at the short, insignificant man surrounded by artillery. "Why are you here?" 

Milton sighed, smile turning cold as he looked back to Dutch, then reached behind his back toward Ross with a wordless request. Ross dropped his rifle to his side, rummaging through his pockets 'till he pulled out a piece did paper and passed it toward Milton. Milton sighed, opening the paper and holding it close enough to himself nobody could tell exactly what it was. He looked up after a bit, face unreadable as he turned the paper around and showed it to Dutch and Hosea. 

It was your missing persons poster. 

"My wife was taken from our home a few months back. I don't know who did it or why, but they haven't even offered a ransom for her." 

"So then what makes you think she didn't just leave on her own volition?" Dutch sneered, reaching in his pocket and pulling out his pipe, lighting it and taking a large huff. 

"Because I know my wife." His tone almost betrayed his stoic, harsh demeanor as he folded your poster up and shoved it back at Ross. "I'm here on an offer. If any of y'all finds her, or knows where she could be, and you get the word to me-" he looked at every member circling him now, most faces blank because they were all well practiced with how not to make it look like you're keeping secrets, "then I swear on my honor that I'll let you go free. All of you." 

Ominous silence greeted Milton, faces still blank but to hell it all if they weren't all questioning themselves inside. Dutch was of course, the first to break the silence. 

"Don't think we can help you, Agent Milton. I ain't never seen someone like that in my life." He took another puff of his pipe, letting the smoke fall from his lips curled in a smile, smoke trailing to Milton's face. "Trust me, I'd remember her." 

Milton's face darkened tenfold and he looked as if he were about to pounce on Dutch then and there, but John's revolver pressing into his spine stopped him cold. He mumbled angrily to himself, whipping around and shoving the revolver off him. "Mark my words. You stay here, and we'll be back with an army. Y'all are making a big mistake." He nodded toward Ross, stalking off. "You'll regret the life you chose, all of you!''

"Good luck finding your wife!" Dutch screamed after him. He nodded to Lenny as he saw Ross's horse disappear from view. "Lenny, go make sure they leave. The rest of you, stop gawkin' and get back to work. We ain't never seen that girl, never even heard of her. Not ever, you understand?" 

"A'course, Dutch," John said with a small smile, the first to disperse followed by Abigail, Jack, and then the rest trickled after. 

"You did the right thing, Dutch," Hosea whispered proudly at Dutch, patting him on the back. "You're a good man under all that crazy." 

Dutch scoffed, rolling his eyes. "How lucky am I to be following the path of an old man with one foot in the grave." 

Hosea threw his head back with a chuckle, patting Dutch on the shoulder again before taking leave. Dutch called on John, told him to go find you and Arthur and bring you back to discuss the situation, and then he disappeared into his tent. 

Nobody seemed to notice Micah, who'd mounted his horse and slipped away toward wherever the two agents had gone off to.

* * *

"Hey, Abigail? Can I talk to you?" You poked your head into her tent, where she was sitting cross-legged on her bedroll, letting little Jack braid her hair. 

Braid was a very strong word for whatever knotted, twisted, tied up thing was hanging from her head, but the sight still warmed your heart. 

"Aunt (Y/N)!" Jack shouted, bolting up from where he was sat to slam his body into your legs, wrapping your waist in a tight hug. 

You smiled earnestly, one hand going to scratch through his hair. "Hey, squirt. How you doin'?" 

"I'm fine," Jack smiled, front two teeth missing and it reminded you of how thrilled he was the day he lost them. "M'just doin' Mommy's hair. See?''

Abigail gaped at you in mock fear, and you covered your mouth with the back of your hand to hide your snicker. "Yes, I see that. Looks mighty fine, you could pass as a barber any day." 

"So's then you'd lemme do your hair sometime?" Jack beamed innocently at you. 

Your eyes darted helplessly to Abigail, who only smiled triumphantly. You sighed shortly, forcing your lips into a tight smile as you brought your hand up to ruffle Jack's hair again. "I don't see why not," you chuckled at him, tickling his tummy before you turned back to Abigail. "Now, 'bout that talk."

Abigail gave you a knowing glance, then turned her attention to Jack. "Say Jack, why don't you run off and find Uncle Arthur? M'sure he's been missin' you, and you can tell him 'bout that huge fish you and Uncle Dutch caught the other day." 

Jack hopped up excitedly. "Okay! Cya later Mommy, (Y/N)!" 

You beamed, giving him a wave before you turned back to Abigail who was helplessly trying to fix the mess that was her hair. You chuckled, walking over to her. "Lemme fix this," you offered as you took your seat behind her, beginning to pull at the knots. 

She sighed in relief, relaxing her posture. "Oh thank God for you, (Y/N). I was worried I'd have permanent knot-head." You chuckled along with her, silent for a while besides the small winces every now and again as you fought with tight knots. "So, what'd you wanna talk about?" Another short wince. "Is it about you and Arthur?" She teased knowingly. 

You paused for only a split second, but a split second Abigail picked up on. "What about me and Arthur?" 

"Sweetheart, don't think I haven't caught you walkin' with that little limp. Not to mention y'all haven't been seen for a whole day then you come back together, at the same time no less." You heard the smile in her tone, and you groaned in response which only had her chuckling. "Nah really, I'm mighty happy for you. And you can thank me, for setting y'all up an all." 

You smiled, combing your fingers through Abigail's soft hair. She did have a point. You'd never directly asked for anyone's help, much less a wingwoman which Abigail had silently became both. It's good to know someone cared, and that they would never judge your heart for wanting what it wants. Someone you can confide in when you really needed it. Abigail was good people, and you're glad you'd met her. You sighed happily, begining to bundle her hair up for braiding. "Yes, alright, you're right. Thank you for your help, Abigail." You smiled bright as Arthur began to invade your thoughts. "Arthur-he's a good man. Deserves to be happy." 

"He does, and so do you, (Y/N)," Abigail added sweetly. "Glad I could help." She rolled her head slightly on one shoulder. "I take it that's not really what you came by to talk about though, is it?" 

You sighed, folding a section of hair over her middle. "Right again." You paused, swallowing as you tried choosing the right words to not upset her. Finally, you just decided it'd be best to bite the bullet and you mustered up the courage. "Abigail, tell me honestly. Do you want John because he's Jack's father or do you want him because you love him? I've been talkin' to John recently and, I don't think he's capable of love and responsibility all at once." 

Abigail became immediately tense, clearing her throat at the tenseness in the air. "What?" She asked, voice terse and cautious. 

You sighed, fiddling with the hair band around your wrist. "It ain't right you making me happy and I do nothing in return. I need to know where your feelings really lie with John before I can help." You felt as Abigail sighed, sad and despondent but she hadn't flinched away just yet. _Take the reigns and steer._ "So you gotta pick one. Which drives you? Love, or obligation?"

Abigail sniffed silently, and your brows furrowed in sympathy, tying up the braid in her hair and squeezing comfortingly at her shoulders. "I-" Abigail breathed out, sobs lacing her words as she sniffled continuously, "I _love_ him, (Y/N). I really do." 

You smiled sadly, dropping your head to rest against the middle of her shoulder blades as you wrapped your arms around her torso, squeezing her tightly to you. "Then let me help you." 

Abigail let out a small sob, breathing deeply before she nodded against you, squeezing at one of your arms. "Okay. Okay." 

* * *

You'd sat and held Abigail through her heartbreak until you felt her go limp in your arms, breathing going heavy and you smiled, setting her back on her bedroll and silently ducking out of her tent to leave her at peace.

You blinked around the bustling camp, you'd seen John recently when he'd come to collect you and Arthur outside the saloon in Valentine, but you'd hadn't seen him since. You were not a patient person, especially when you'd let someone else depend on you, but now you supposed you had no option but to wait for now. 

Sighing, you walked aimlessly toward the loudest sounds coming from the camp, hoping to fill that sense of no purpose with idle chit-chat. 

You passed by the horse hitching posts the moment Micah came back into camp, and you cursed Father Time with all you had in you. 

Micah noticed you first, smug smirk on his face as he tipped his hat at you. "(Y/N)," he greeted. 

You bit back your petulant anger, offering him a close-lipped smile. "Micah. Welcome back."

"Ah," Micah hummed, sauntering slowly out of his stirrups and stretching out his stout body when his feet hit solid ground. "Could get used to this little welcome home party. Not like any other of these lazy sacks of shit are out making money for the camp." 

You bit back from saying that since you'd joined up with them you'd only seen Micah go out once, coming back with a single squirrel that ended up being so mangled Pearson had to throw it away. Instead, you kept the same smile on your face. "Well, allow me to thank you personally then. Where'd you head off to?" 

Micah chuckled darkly, pulling a large stack of bills from his satchel and leering up at you, smile on his face that sent chills down your spine. He held up a finger, cocking it side to side. "Ah-ah, master never gives up their spoils," he drawled, laughing at his own stead. "Don't you worry about where it came from, just be happy it's here." 

The smug smile he was trapping you with, not to mention _where_ those eyes kept trailing to, had tendrils of uncomfortable fear chill you to the bone. You offered a weak smile, stepping around him. "Well then, thank you again. I'll be getting on, now."

"You do that, (Y/N)," he called after you, and you tried your damndest to hide the fact that you knew he was watching your ass as you walked away, pitiful tears staining your waterline before you took a sharp turn, disappearing behind Pearson's wagon. 

By the grace of the gods, Arthur was near, sitting around a campfire with Jack bouncing on his knee, big smile on his face as he listened intently to Jack's fish story. Immediately, your heart calmed and you watched the spectacle for a while before you decided to make your presence known, slowly sauntering up to the two. 

Jack noticed you first, head whipping to you and a smile cracked his face. "It was _this_ big, Aunt (Y/N)! Dutch almost fell backwards out the boat picking it up!" He spread his arms our comically wide to express his point, and you smiled genuinely, chuckle escaping your lips. 

"Writing, drawing, adventuring, hairdressing, and now fishing, Jack? Is there nothing you're not good at?" You cooed at him, ruffling his hair as he giggled. 

Arthur spared a glance at you, and damn him for seeing straight through you as he quirked a worried brow before looking back down at Jack with a big smile. "Say, it's gettin' real late, Jack. Why don' you go get ready for bed, huh?" 

Jack began to protest, but the big yawn he cracked halfway through gave him away. "Ooo-kay," he pouted, sliding off Arthur's knee. Arthur smiled, ruffling Jack's hair. 

"Just be real quiet when you get to your tent, okay? Your mama's sleeping." You smiled at him, squeezing his shoulder as he nodded and walked away. You turned back to Arthur, his face asking a million questions but first, he reached out, wrapping a hand around your waist and pushing you down so you'd taken Jack's place on his lap. 

"Arthur," you started, face beat-red as your eyes darted self-consciously around the camp to see who was watching. "You sure you want the whole camp to know?" 

Arthur hummed lowly, laying a chaste kiss to the back of your neck. "Nah, I ain't got a thing to hide. Gonna show you off like the prize you are, baby," he said sweetly and you felt your face heat again. "Now what's got you all flustered?" 

"Nothing," you answered far too quickly. You sighed as you felt Arthur shake his head against you, pulling away and fixing you with a skeptical glare. "Really, Arthur. It's nothing. It's just," you sighed, closing your eyes and resting your head in your hands. "It's just _Micah_ is all." 

Arthur immediately tensed at the mention of his name, and his grip on your hand tightened tremendously. "Micah? What'd that two-timing piece of shit do to you?" 

"No, it's not like that, Arthur," you tried, but he was already fuming. 

"I swear to God, (Y/N), if he hurt you-if he _touched_ you, I'll-" 

" _Arthur,"_ you hissed, gripping his hand tightly in your own and putting your hand up to his face, turning it to face you. "Nothing happened, Arthur. I'm a big girl, okay? I can fight my own battles if it comes to that." You pressed a comforting kiss to his forehead. "Trust me, okay?" 

Arthur sighed, closing his eyes and pushing his forehead further against your's, hand going to cup against yours. "Alright then," he finally said, pulling his head away. He gave your hand a squeeze as you looked at him almost sadly, letting you know everything was okay as his eyes watched the crackling fire in front of you. 

"What'd Dutch want to talk to you about?" 

You didn't miss the small wince in Arthur's features before he brushed it off. "S'nothing. Nothing you needa worry about, anyway." 

You glared skeptically at him. "So it's about me?" 

Arthur shook his head, mute as he stared into the fire. You squeezed his hand, but he didn't react, and you huffed frustratingly, standing off his lap and instead sitting on the log next to him. "Arthur, if it's about me I want to know what it is." 

Arthur swallowed hard, stoic for a few more moments before he sighed, looking deeply at you. "Milton showed up at camp this morning." 

Your blood ran cold, tears stinging at your waterline and you could _hear_ you heart beating hard in your chest. "Oh," you breathed out, voice incredibly shaky. 

"Hey," Arthur soothed, turning on you and grabbing both your hands, holding them to his chest. "Look at me, (Y/N)." You gulped, barely able to hear him but you still felt as your body turned, your eyes fixed on his face. "I promise you with all I got that ain't a thing gonna happen to you while I'm still standing, okay? You don't gotta worry about a thing. I'll protect you." 

You sighed, still petrified but Arthur's warm, calloused hands touching all across your skin was more calming than any words could be. You melted into his touch, closing your eyes and leaning heavy against him. 

Arthur shushed you lightly, wrapping his arms tight around you and holding you right against his heartbeat. 

"I promise you, I won't let a thing hurt you long as I'm still here." 

* * *

Milton and Ross, anger trailed heavily between them, silently rode out of the Van der Linde's hideout, Milton grumbling nothings to himself. 

"Why can't we just call the whole force down on them right now, get them out of the way?" 

"Because, Ross." Milton sneered, jaw set hard. "Because we don't got enough support this far east to show up with no more than three men. And besides, if they are holdin' her," he paused, rage overcoming him as he took a sharp breath in, closing his eyes tightly, "I can't risk her getting caught in the crossfire. Soon, Ross. Soon." 

That's when they heard a third pair of hooves thundering behind them. 

"Gentlemen!" 

The two whipped toward the noise, Ross defaulting to snatching up his rifle and pointing it at the man coming down the road toward them. 

Well, shit. It was none other than Micah Bell. 

"Stop right there, Mr. Bell," Milton shouted threateningly, hand ghosting toward Ross. "What do you think you're doing here?" 

Micah quirked a cocky brow, nodding toward Ross. "Is this the welcoming you give all your friends?" 

"We ain't friends, Mr. Bell." Milton said, tone like ice. 

"Well, that's too bad. I ain't got many friends, believe it or not. But I know a two or thing about em. I hear, that friends help eachother with their problems." He said in a knowing tone, shrugging. "But I guess we ain't friends, then. Good day, sirs." 

"Wait." Milton called after Micah, and he stopped, turning back around with a smirk on his face. "What exactly are you implying, Mr. Bell?" 

"Well, let's just say-" Micah paused, reaching into his pocket and Milton called for Ross to take his finger off the trigger. Micah smirked, pulling a slip of paper out of his coat pocket and reaching forward to hand it to Milton. Milton paused, reaching out and snatching the paper and unfolding it, gasping at the sight. 

Your missing persons poster. 

"Let's just say I know a thing or two that you don't." Micah smirked smugly, leaning forward on his saddle. "What do you say we make a deal?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck you, Micah.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "WHAT?? Oof, it's been almost four months since you've updated! Where the hell have you been?"
> 
> I know. I'm so sorry to leave yall hangin like that. As you all know, 2020 was a hard year. For the lot of us. However the end of the year was one of the hardest challenges of my life, and things seemed to start going to shit in a pattern after that. I won't bore you with all the details, but I will say it took a hell of a lot out of me. Talking with friends, family and counselors alike, they all want the best for me and want me to pursue things I found/find motivating to me.  
> And with all this love, reads, and comments y'all gave me through the 11 chapters of this fic? It was more of a comfort to me than anything I had.  
> I hope you all can forgive me for this HUGE break, but I'm back for now. I can't promise there won't be times when I have to take a mental break, but I'll try my hardest to keep going strong.  
> I love you all so much, and unknowingly or not, you've all played a part in making me better. ❤️❤️❤️

You were awoken the next morning, _far_ too early if you had any say in the matter, to Arthur's arm lifting from that all-encompansing warm and inviting grip it had around your waist, feeling the cot you two had almost literally fell in in your drunken states the night before dip as he shifted around. You groaned like a petulant child, refusing to open you eyes to be assaulted by the onslaught of that incessantly blinding sun and waving your hands around blindly for him. 

You heard a low chuckle from somewhere beside you, not missing the slight wince cutting it off at the end. You would have smiled smugly at the fact Arthur was in a bad as shape as you, possibly even worse seeing as he always took one too many more bottles than he probably should. However, it was a bittersweet victory, seeing as any facial expression sent more aching pounds through your head, not to mention the fact that the warmth of his body smushed against yours was really the only hangover remedy you'd known that actually worked. 

You heard the thud of bare feet bounce against the earthy ground as the bed dipped again, Arthur completely off the cot now and you didn't even care that you let out a shrill, pitiful whine at the feeling his departure left in your bones. He let out another chuckle, more self-conscious this time but it still had those clinging tendrils of pain hanging on for it's dear life, feeling chapped lips that were somehow both cold and incredibly warm against your forehead and a hand stroking gently through your hair. You sighed against that feeling, leaning further into his touch and turning your head to lay a responding kiss against his palm.

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart. You've got a good couple hours till Grimshaw sends after you for loitering." 

You certainly couldn't offer a chuckle at the remark given your state, so you offered him a small smile at the imagery in your head. "Mmmmwhere'r'ya'goin?" You slurred into a single word, head still pounding even though you barely opened your jaw. 

"Javier, Charles and I got some business to attend to up in Blackwater." 

_Fuck_ your pain. Your eyes shot open, glaring at Arthur skeptically. "Blackwater?" 

For his part, Arthur had the decency to look sheepish as he nodded slowly, unbelievably pretty even while hungover eyes looking down at his toes. "Yeah. Yeah, we got a boy over there needs rescuing. We gotta get him out before they give him a first class ticket to the gallows." 

You sputtered, gritting your teeth at the burning and pounding in your head as you moved to sit up, gripping Arthur's shoulder tightly. "You have to let me come with you."

Immediately, a hand came up to cover yours, squeezing just hard enough to not be painful, but to make a slight throb in your fingers. "No. It's far too dangerous." 

"Which is _exactly_ why I need to come," you countered, feeling your voice rise despite the pounding in your head. No doubt you'll be scowled at later for waking the camp, but you couldn't give less of a damn. "I can come with you all, cover you and lessen the risk of one of you-" you gulped at the the imagery that final thought sent surging through your head, refusing to say it out loud. 

The hand still gripped firmly over yours as he shook his head, other hand cupping softly over your cheek. "No, Princess, I can't let you do that. There'll be a shit ton of bounty hunters, _and_ Pinkertons alike swarming around there. I can't take the risk of one of your husband's men recognizing you, telling your husband or for God's sake, trying to take you, take you from-" he winced, eyes shutting tightly against the pain not caused by the hangover, "I can't lose you now, Y/N. I won't."

Although your breaths felt hard to come, your heart pounding well past the level of your headache, and your tongue burning in your mouth with an adamant counter, you let out an exhausted sigh, hand moving to cup his chin to move him to face you. "Alright. Alright, fine. But you _better_ come back. If you end up dead, I'll kill you." 

A slow smile stretched across his lips, hearty chuckle escaping him as he leaned forward, touching his forehead against yours. "You got nothing to worry about, Princess," he whispered, hot breaths against your skin leaving tingles wherever it touched, "Charles Javier and I are some of the best shots in the gang. Minus John, but we'd be dragging his ass out with us if Dutch wasn't coddling his golden boy like he always does."

You'd ask him how he was suddenly so bold to make such a heavy, but albeit true statement, but you didn't miss the long, almost scared glances he'd made toward Dutch's tent before and immediately after the words left his lips. You smiled, small chuckle falling from your lips as both of your hands came to rest against the sides of his head, fingers curling into his dirty blonde locks as you coaxed his lips smoothly against yours. You pulled away, swiping your tongue against his bottom lip before you pulled both your heads further away from eachother to look him in the eyes. "Be safe, Arthur. And hurry back before I stop missing you." 

Arthur chuckled, leaning back on his heels before moving to sit against the edge of the cot, rooting around in _your_ foot-chest for a pair of socks. You were far be it too worried and exhausted to care however, watching as he slowly unfolded a pair, slipping them onto his feet. "Ah, don't worry about it, Princess. You'll definitely _hear_ when we get back before you see it." 

You furrowed your brows, tilting your head slightly at the knowing smile curling the tips of Arthur's lips. "What does that mean?" 

"You'll see," Arthur chuckled, leaning over you and taking your hand in his, lacing your fingers together and pressing a kiss against your knuckles. "And what about you? Got any plans for today? Take that pretty little mind off worrying after us?"

You sighed, fiddling with his fingers as you peered into his summer blue eyes. You _did_ have plans for today, sure. But none that involved being without Arthur. Then again, you could try finding John if he's somewhere lurking around camp and get to the task of being the camp's relationship and general counselor. And, if needs be and John was still nowhere to be seen, you're sure Miss Grimshaw would have _plenty_ of things for you to do. You sighed again, giving him a small smile. "I'm sure I'll figure something out." 

Arthur smiled warmly at you, thumb drawing patterns against the smooth skin of your cheek before standing off the cot with a small grunt. "I know you will," he smiled, petting the loose strands of hair from your forehead and tucking them behind your ear. "You still have a good while before you have to worry yourself over that, though. Get some rest, Princess. I'll be back before you know it." Giving your forehead one last peck, he squeezed the top of your thigh and quietly ducked out of your tent, mindful to keep the bleating sun as much out of your eyesight as possible. 

You sighed against the heavy, almost empty feeling in your stomach as the cot suddenly felt very cold and immensely uncomfortable without Arthur in it. You tossed and turned for several minutes, eventually giving up and opting to just lay still in the middle of the cot, staring at the tattered tarp of the tent above you until you heard the rest of the camp start to wake up. 

You weren't entirely certain if your dwindling ability to function without having Arthur somewhere near was romantic and sweet, or monstrously terrifying. 

* * *

John didn't hate the gang, not by a long shot. He knew that without them, he wouldn't still be standing today. He knew he owed more to that gang than he'd ever truly be able to give, and for that he would always look up to them-no matter what.

But that doesn't mean they didn't piss him the fuck off. 

Owing someone your life doesn't specifically mean you didn't have a right to be angry with them. And the way things have been going now, not just with the constant berating of kick-back time he's gotten since he was a three-course meal for a pack of wolves, but with the way Dutch in particular has been acting? There were certainly times where he rightfully felt as if a break from them all was more than necessary.

So, that's how he found himself lounging around Valentine for a few days, taking some off-bounties from the sheriff and causing mutual heckling around the saloon these past couple days. It was a welcome change for the better, nobody knowing who he was, nor knowing the responsibilities still waiting for him back home. For a short time, at least. Until someone had the misfortune of recognizing him from an earlier rough-up and he'd have to disappear to some other flophouse for a while. Or worse, when someone from the gang shows up and either drags him off by the ear or heckles him until he decides that being at home would honestly be more preferable. 

That would almost be the case here, except he knew for a fact he wanted and had almost nothing to do with Micah, nor vice versa. If Dutch really wanted him back at camp, he'd send someone like Arthur or Charles to retrieve him-people he wouldn't mind taking a swing or two at sometimes but respected enough to eventually listen to. So then what the fuck was Micah doing sneaking around town instead of raising all hell in a saloon like normal, if he wasn't here for John? 

John finished off his beef stew, giving a hefty swat to the back of one of the townsfolk he'd been making friendly enough banter to, taking his chance to discreetly follow Micah, because it was in every sane member of the gang's best interest to not trust the slippery little snake. 

It seemed innocent enough at first, what with Micah taking a couple laps around town, stopping here and there by the saloon to again humiliate himself trying to get a hook up. John smiled to himself as he noticed that even women that were _paid_ to show men a good time wouldnt give so much as a glance in his direction. Even so, as weird as it was to see him not stirring up shit like usual, this visit seemed much more innocent than harmful. So with the thought in mind, John was just about ready to rear his horse back around and head for camp, when he noticed something. 

Micah ducked hurriedly into the alleyway between the sheriff's office and the town doc, taking two or three quick glances over his shoulder before he disappeared. 

"There it is," John muttered to himself, lifting himself out of his stirrups and hitching his horse near the gunsmith. 

"Let it be known, Mr. Bell," John let out a tiny breath, scrunching up on the side of the sheriff's office as he heard the familiar voice of Agent Milton from his little camp visit a few days ago, bristling at the idea of Micah having a nice little chat with them. "That if you're attempting to manipulate us and lead us into a trap, the Pinkertons are allied with every soul in this little shanty town, and you won't so much as be able to lay a finger on that gun of your's before you're dead in the ground."

"I assure you gentlemen, I have no desire to see you dead. If I had, do you really think I'd be willing to meet you in somewhere so civilized?" 

There was a short silence, John making it a point to keep still as a statue before someone spoke again. "Fine. What do you know?"

"First, we need to discuss terms. I can't simply tell you without making sure I'm getting what I want in return. And it's not like I could just take you back, they'd be expecting you and you'd be dead before they even saw you." John's blood ran cold as he began to put together exactly why Micah was meeting with them. "Tell you what. You keep my pockets filled every few weeks, and I'll be your informant. Camp moves? Someone offs themselves? Next place she'll be alone? You'll know. Throw in an extra hundred here and there, and I might even be able to trick that lapdog Dutch and his two golden boys into getting themselves caught. Whaddya say?" 

Another silence followed, a long, suffocating silence where John almost had to hold himself back from putting a hole right into the back of the rat's skull and calling the problem solved. He knew if he did that with no proof of Micah's sellout, Dutch would never believe him. He'd already grown tired of regular dislike from those closest to him toward Micah, and if it so happened that he ended up dead, at the hands of one of his "sons?" He'd probably put two in John's skull for good measure. 

Still, he had to tell someone. Someone who'd believe him, someone who'd help take the bastard down for good, fuck the consequences. This isn't something he'd ever be able to keep to himself, it's too big and heavy for one man. 

Arthur, Hosea and Y/N. That's who he'd tell. If they thought others could be trusted, all the power to them. But he knew those three would always have his back. Maybe Dutch would have at one time, and he would've been the first that John would have come to with these things. But with the way things were going these days, he wouldn't trust Dutch as far as he could throw him. 

Maybe he'll finally go back to seeing reason when the rat's bleeding out at his very feet.

"Fine, Mr. Bell. You've got a deal." 

That was John's cue to get the hell out of there, racing toward his horse and hammering his way back home before Micah.

* * *

Arthur was always more of a shoot first, ask questions later kind of man. He was never really a man for patience, not when someone he cared for was in trouble and especially not something he'd think of as a viable plan of action when he was on his own. He always found it easier to run in with guns blazing, catching them unaware and blasting their heads off before they could stand on their own two feet. 

So when Javier and Josiah thought it'd be best to take it stealthily, he was more than a little rusty. 

Javier and Charles were masters at this kind of thing, sticking to the shadows and taking men out before they even knew they were there, so maybe Javier and Charles should have been the ones doing this. 

Certainly would've saved Arthur from taking a bullet to his hip.

"You're heavier than you look, _amigo,"_ Javier joked as he jostled Arthur as little as he could over his shoulder. 

"Always the charmer," Arthur said through grit teeth. 

Javier chuckled heartily, walking slow to prevent from Arthur sliding around on that wound too much, calling for Charles before Arthur felt himself slowly being lowered back onto the ground. 

"I didn't see him go down," Charles muttered softly from above him, peeling Arthur's eyes open wider as he inspected his pupils. "What happened?"

"Bullet came skidding straight off a boulder and veered right into him, neither of us saw it coming," Javier murmured, wiping his bloodied hands on his jeans and depositing a cigarette from his satchel.

"I miss the olden days when we'd go in bullets blazing," Arthur grunted, wincing slightly as Charles prodded the gunshot wound to his hip. "You have the best shots behind you and you didn't have to worry about a thing."

"Yeah yeah, Old Man. Quit fussing before you break your other hip," Charles chided as he pushed his arm jokingly. He looked back up to Javier, nodding toward Sean who was still dangling off a tree branch by his feet. "You go ahead and get Sean untied and take him home, I'll see to the old fart." 

"You're sure?" Javier asked past his cigarette, shrugging as Charles gave a swift nod. He leaned down into Arthur's sight, giving his shoulder a companionable squeeze. "Aye, try not to bleed out all over Charles, huh?" 

"I dunno, it might make him look even _more_ badass," Arthur joked, groaning at the sharp pain in his side as he chuckled. 

"Easy, big guy," Charles cooed, steadying hand on his chest as he began rooting around in his satchel for supplies. 

"Alright you little Irish bastard, let's get you down." 

"Javier! My Spanish speaking friend you'r, s'damn great 'a see ya 'ere! Great feckin' timing too, I was gettin' bored up here all on my lonesome!"

"You're sure we can't just leave him here?" Javier muttered, exhaustion already tugging at his voice as they heard the tell-tale sign of a rope being cut and a large, heavy thing smacking against the ground with a loud _thud._

"Aye, whozzat? Don't tell me that's ol' Arthur Morgan down there? He alri?" 

"He'll be fine," Charles said shortly, helping Arthur lift his head to swallow back a health cure. 

"Ah, dat's great. Wouldn't want my welcome home party gettin' ruined cuz angry over here got himself killed rescuin' me." 

Arthur groaned, smacking his head back against the dirt. "Good to see you again too, Irish." 

Sean's manic cackling sent knives through Arthur's brain before it was mercifully cut off with a sharp yelp as Javier yanked him up by an arm. _"Ay dios mio,_ Sean, if you don't shut up-" Javier groaned, shoving him towards his horse. When they were both on, Javier threw his head over his shoulder at the two, who'd just got Arthur to sit up. "See you guys back at camp!" 

"Yeah, stay sharp," Charles said, giving him a small wave. 

"I imagine you all missed me lots," Sean began, shrilly voice echoing from well down the road as Javier rode out of sight.

"What in the world did Dutch ever see in that kid?" Charles groaned, wrapping a bandage tightly around Arthur's lower torso. 

"I dunno, needed a laugh I guess," Arthur ground out, sighing as the bandage wrap rubbed slightly uncomfortable against his skin. "Ugh, Princess is gonna kill me." 

Charles furrowed his brows, but realization hit him fast and he smiled slightly, nodding. "Yeah, I definitely don't envy you, my friend." Arthur snorted, Charles not looking up as he secured the bandage. "So, are you two-official then?" 

Arthur halted, letting out a small shrug. "I-guess so. I mean, we haven't really talked much about it, but we're already doing most of what 'official' entails, so." 

"And you're certain she knows this?" Charles asked, a bit of edge in his tone and he folded Arthur's shirt back over his torso. 

Arthur raised a skeptical brow at him. "Well she certainly didn't wave me away when we had our fun last night, if that's what you mean." Charles rolled his eyes, but smirked as he helped him to stand up. "Why the sudden interest in my love life anyway?"

Charles shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, whistling for Taima and calling along for Arthur's horse before turning his attention back to Arthur. "I respect you, both of you. You've both become very good friends to me. I protect my friends. I just want to make sure you're both happy. You deserve that much, at least." 

Arthur's cheeks reddened under the admission, scratching against the back of his neck as he looked down. "Oh, I uh-" he was broke off with a strangled yelp as Charles yanked his arm, hoisting him up into Taima's saddle. He threw a shocked look over his shoulder as Charles climbed up to sit behind him. 

"You're in no true shape to stay up on Charlie's saddle on your own," he said, nodding toward Arthur's horse. "I want to make sure we get home without having to explain you keeled over somewhere in the forests. Besides, I'm here to make sure you get as much rest as you can, before you _can't,"_ tone alluding to the shitstorm that will be waiting for him at home. 

Arthur groaned his displeasure, leaning forward in his haunches and resting his head against Taima's maine, who huffed her greetings at him. "Don't remind me," he whined, closing his eyes. 

Charles chuckled, patting his back comfortingly before coaxing Taima forward and clicking his tongue for Charlie to follow.

* * *

You paused from chopping the prime beef intended for the camp stew tonight by the sound of what seemed to be a chipmunk high on weed killer. You furrowed your brows, looking to Pearson over the table. "What the hell is that?" 

Pearson, looking none too pleased, shook his head disapprovingly. "That, my dear, would be the first and only reason for that headache that will never go away." 

You shook your head, still not satisfied with that answer. "How do you me-"

"And here we are! Don't you all keep worrying, for your best man, Sean Macguire is back and better than ever!" 

You startled to attention as everyone still in the camp scampered toward the offending shrill voice screaming expletive after excitement, looking toward Pearson for an unspoken invitation to go see what that noise was about. He rolled his eyes, but nodded at you. You thanked him, setting down your meat cleaver and ducking around obstacles and people alike as you craned to see what the commotion was. 

Coming into camp was Javier, with another man you had never seen, rotten teeth on full display and bright red hair even brighter in the midday sun as he thrust his arms out at his sides, laughing manically. 

"Hey, I can't believe it! Y'all sorry sacks actually brought him back," Bill snorted above the cheering uproar from the camp. 

Javier brought his horse over to the hitching posts, one move away from pushing Sean straight off his horse as he hoisted himself up and out of his stirrups. He waved off any congratulatory swats to his back, shaking his head as he rubbed religiously at his temples. "I'm taking a nap," he said exhaustedly as he brushed past you, heading for his tent and plopping face first onto his bedroll. 

You chuckled at the sight, already feeling as if you could relate with that man _still_ not finding it in him to close his mouth for more than three seconds. Speak of the devil, the man walked up to you with a glint in his green eyes you most certainly didn't appreciate. "Ah, and who are you, lass? Don't think I'd ever seen your lot here, I'd surely remember," he drawled, kissing the tips of your knuckles. 

"Down, boy," Abigail chuckled, steeping between the two of you and shoving him away from you. God, did you love her. "She's already spoken for." 

"Aw, ain't that a shame. By who?" 

Abigail gave you a conscious look over her shoulder, and you nodded your approval before she turned back to Sean, a teasing smile on her lips and blue eyes hard as she parted her lips. "By Arthur." 

Sean kept that cocky smile on his face, but you saw the hint of worry in his eyes as he backed further away from you. "Ah, angry. Guess I can see that attraction, he ain't that ugly when he ain't so mad at the world." He turned his attention back at you, gaze ghosting seriousness as he let off a little bow. "My apologies, little lass. I'll refrain from mindlessly flirting with dames in the future."

You rolled your eyes, but couldnt keep the smile off your face at the overall humorous tone he seemed to give off for you. However, the smile soon deflated when realization hit you hard and twisted your gut painfully. If Javier was back, and their damsel in distress was here, then where was Charles? Where was Arthur? "Where are the rest of them?" 

Sean looked down, uninterested at the subject change from.himself as he picked at the dirt under his nails. "Aw, English went and got himself shot on his grand ol' rescue. Sulky stayed back with him, they should be back 'ere soon." 

Although you knew Charles wouldn't leave Arthur to his own fate without pulling him bodily away from the depths, you felt three parts worry, one part fury running through your body as you curled in unconsciously on yourself. 

"Aye, you alright there lass? Was it somethin' I said?" 

Abigail immediately turned back to you, face hard and sobering as she caught you in her arms as if you were about to fall-which you very well might have been-holding you tightly against her chest. "Shh, it's okay. You're alright." She looked over to Sean with a frown. "Don't you got some welcoming home to get going to?" 

Sean had the decency to look guilty in your direction, but eventually ducked away from you, smile back on his face as he integrated himself back with the crowd of people happy to see him home. 

"Hey," Abigail whispered, lips pressing comfortingly against the top of your head as she held you securely in her grip. "You don't have a thing to worry about, Y/N. Charles is the best company he could get out there." 

"I-I know." You sighed, nodding. Charles was a great man, and you respected him deeply even if you two hadn't talked much since you joined up. He was smart, patient, kind, and incredibly caring and protective of his friends. You knew with every rational thought that Arthur would be fine in Charles's care. Yet, your heart still hammered in your ears and your breaths came in tiny, short gasps. "I don't, know why I-" you sighed, closing your eyes tight as you pressed yourself tighter into her warm, encompassing and grounding embrace. "I just need to see him first." 

Abigail nodded understandingly, squeezing your small frame to hers. "I know, Love. Trust me, I know." She passed one hand soothingly through your locks, humming a small tune as the vibrations from her chest worked to centralize you to your surroundings, her beautiful, clear voice melting away the worry with every new second that came. "Do you want me to stay here with you, until he comes back?"

You looked up to her, helplessly grateful as she looked upon you, face soberingly serious and a small comforting smile playing against her lips. "If it's not too much trouble-" 

"Don't be silly, of course it isn't." She cut you off with the stern tone of a mother consoling her child, smiling again as her hand continued her ministrations in your hair. 

You sighed, leaning more into her touches as you kept your eyes glued onto the entrance of the camp. "Thank you," you whispered to her, squeezing the forearm still wrapped around your torso. 

She responded in kind by continuing to hum.

* * *

The ones still coherent enough to look after him wouldn't even let you peek into his tent while they worked on stitching up Arthur, which did nothing to calm your debilitating nerves. Luckily, Abigail was standing beside you every second of the way, squeezing her hand comfortingly against your's as she looked with equal worry upon the mere shadows littering the tent tarp as Hosea, Charles and Miss Grimshaw all worked to get his wound and bleeding under control. 

When movement seemed to finally cease and Hosea and Grimshaw filed out of the tent, wordless and not looking toward you as they dispersed, you felt your body get cold. Abigail's grip on your hand tightened, and you numbly felt as her other hand rubbed soothingly against your arm, but it was getting increasingly harder to focus on that as you finally saw the last shadow stand, Charles walking through the tent flap and being the first one to pay you a second mind as he walked up to you, staring you straight in the eye. 

He stared at you, eyes an unbelievably calm brown as he reached out, steadying and firm hand clapsing comfortingly against your shoulder. You were about to explode with the lack of conversation, and Charles must've sensed your discomfort, a small, comforting smile contorting his lips. "He'll be fine." 

You let the sob you didn't even know was trapped in your throat free as you breathed out a sigh, worries quickly fading and leaving through your fingers and toes as you smiled. "Thank you," you whispered toward Abigail, squeezing her hand tightly. "Thank you," you repeated to Charles, standing on your toes to wrap your arms tightly around his neck, pushing her head into the crook of his neck. 

"You're welcome," he smiled against your shoulder, squeezing your comfortingly before backing away. "He's still awake, if you wanted to go talk to him. He'll be out soon from the meds we gave him, so try not to take too much offense if he nods off in the middle of your rightful reprimanding." He joked, smirk on his lips. 

You laughed heartily, nodding as you let go of Abigail's hand, ducking under the flap to Arthur's tent. 

* * *

"I hate you," you muttered as you sat forward in your chair next to his cot, watching as his summer blues turned a pretty grey from the medical haze stared back at you. 

"I know," he slurred slightly, sleepy smile curling his lips. 

"You should've let me go with you." 

"I know." 

"I told you to be careful."

"I know." 

"You're an idiot," you chimed with finality, leaning forward and squeezing one of your hands into his. 

"I know," he mumbled, blinking starting to get slower and longer now. 

"And I hate you," you repeated, tone of your voice giving away your lie. 

The smile stretched well past his face now, toward the ends of his ears. "You love me," he whispered, breaths stilling slow and heavy almost immediately after that. 

You watched his chest rise and fall slowly for a while, his impossibly long and thick eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones as a smile slowly stretched across your own lips. Leaning forward, you slowly pressed your lips against his. "Yeah, I do," you whispered back.

* * *

You were startled awake by a rasping knock against the tarp to Arthur's tent, groaning as you sat up in that hard wooden chair and your neck ached in protest. Looking down, you found Arthur still dead to the world, your hand still curled into his. Smiling slightly, you untangled your hand from his, pulling his blankets further up his chest before turning and getting more than ready to reprimand whoever so rudely interrupted both your rests.

You certainly didn't expect to see Hosea and John standing on the other side of the tent, looking to you with expectant and cautious glares. You felt your chest and toes grow cold as the familiar wash of dread crashed through you. "What is it?" You asked, voice slightly hoarse from sleep. 

"Where's Arthur?" John asked you, eyes darting side to side as if he was expecting someone listening in on the conversation. 

"He's asleep," you said curiously, flicking your head toward the tent behind you. "Why? What's going on?"

John sighed, eyes finally finding the offensive target in his paranoia, his stance going rigid and lips turning into a scowl as he stared. You curiously looked to where he was glaring, and you noticed Micah sitting on the logs near the fire, seemingly oblivious to John's seething glare as he downed another bottle of whiskey, adding to the pile of bottles at his feet as he laughed nasally at something Bill had said, swatting him drunkenly on the back. 

"We need to tell you something, Y/N," Hosea said almost soothingly, tapping you on the arm to grab your attention. "But we need to make sure the only other person you share this information with is Arthur. Can you promise us that?" 

You felt your heartbeat begin to quicken at the hard, incredibly unnerving glares both the men were sending you now. Mutely, you nodded, feeling your breathing begin to rapidly pick up. 

John's eyes gave you the once over, nodding as he flicked his head over his shoulder. "Not here," he muttered, motioning for you to follow. "Let's go somewhere we can't risk someone listening in.''

"O-okay," you faltered, and you felt as Hosea reached out to you, clapsing his hand around your arm comfortingly as all three of you moved forward, sneaking into the wooded area near the entrance of the camp before John turned around to face you, Hosea releasing his grip on you to stand next to John. 

"Y/N," John said, eyes wide as they regarded you, "we've got a problem."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤️

You didn't remember much of what happened after John told you the bad news. 

You remembered a constricting, almost painful pressure building in your chest, you remembered feeling incredibly dizzy and lightheaded, and trying to take a single step to steady yourself because you felt as if you were suddenly floating above land-hands grabbed against your arms and then everything was black. 

* * *

_Your parents never told you why you were constantly moving one place to another. They thought they were protecting you by keeping you oblivious, but the secrecy was only making your life an unstable and irreparably lonely mess. You'd spent years of your young childhood and adolescence believing it was your fault your parents had to move, you were a screwup, you messed up so bad and your parents had to clean up the mess by leaving. You cost too much, you were to expensive. You were weird, strange, foreign, ugly, anything to explain why you could never make or keep friends your age. It was always unintentional, and you understood the premise of the situation years later, but clouding over your childhood and being forced to live in a shrouded cloak that'd only see the sun for a second before it was forced back into the shadows-it was no way for a child to live and grow._

_It seemed as if any place you'd get the most attached to, you'd leave within three months. Your parents hated to see you so unhappy and despondent when your mother would silently grab your hand, pulling you back in the house and helping you pick out your "favorite dresses" to take along to your next "adventure." But there's wasn't anything they could do._

_They were outlaws. They killed and robbed innocent folks, and even if they'd given that up years ago, made a new-mostly peaceful life for themselves and worked to make a new reputation for themselves-they still hurt those undeserving. They still ruined the lives of someone's wife, husband, mother or father, sister, brother, son or daughter, and there was never any running away from that. Never any making it better._

_You'd never stay in one place longer than six months._

_Moving was the safest option-not only did their past lives burden their own persons, now they had a beautiful little daughter, so innocent and pure-that they'd surely kill or sell. They couldn't let that happen, they wouldn't. If they had to die for who they once were and the sins they'd committed, then let the powers that be judge them for their cruelty. But not you. They had to protect you._

_And so they ran. You were forced to run-run from your parents, your happiness, your stability, any kind of normal life-because there was always someone's burdening that would get in the way of being a normal little girl with normal, loving parents in a home they could call their own for more than a few months._

_You've never stopped running, you knew that. The last time you had, your parents were shot dead in front of you and what little happiness the life of an outlaw's daughter brought you was gone before you could even miss it._

_But you're not running from your family name and reputation, you're not running from your manipulative, abusive and cynical ex-husband you were forced into marrying just to stay alive, you weren't running from someone **else's** burden anymore. _

_This was your fault. You dragged a group of less-than-innocent outlaws into your mess and expected your situation to just clean itself up from there. You put the lives of those you cared for, loved even, who'd protect you no matter what, in constant fatal danger because of your mistakes. Because you made the mistake, again, of thinking it was okay to stop running. _

_You had to get out. It was best for everyone. You wouldn't risk getting any of your family killed because of your burdens._

_You were going to leave._

* * *

Your eyes opened slowly, immediately assaulted by the sun's high-rise shining through your opened tent and cascading over the cot you were laid up on. You grimaced into a grown, hands covering shut-tight eyes as you rubbed them furiously. You heard the sound of shuffling from somewhere inside the tent with you-boots thudding against the ground as they walked around to the side of the tent's opening, flapping the tent tarp closed if the red hue disappearing from behind your eyelids said anything. 

Giving your eyes a last rubbing, you tried again to open them and were pleased not only that you were not immediately blinded as soon as you cracked them open, but also because the first real thing you set your eyes on was the sight of the beauty Arthur Morgan himself, sat up in a dusty old chair, hair under that dusty old hat beginning to grow to rest over his shoulders and a light scruff on his face, head bowed and beautiful summer blues glued straight to you. You realized now with him being this close and you too dazed to really focus on talking, that he had a line of freckles-stretching down below those eyes and littering his skin horizontally past the bridge of his nose. 

Leaving him may very well see your death from a broken heart. 

"What?" You began, trying to sit up but you were immediately pressed back down into the bed after feeling as if the world was spinning on its axis above you. 

"Shh, just lay down Princess," Arthur coaxed gently, holding a flask of water to your lips and helping you to slowly press your head up enough to drink it. "Boys said you feinted last night, John had you laid out in his arms brining you back here. Never really took you as the fainting type. You getting enough to eat, Y/N?" 

You furrowed your brows at the thought. You tried hard to remember the last time you'd ever had these dizzy spells or felt as if you were perpetually nauseous; both morning and night and _especially_ while you ate, and you came up with nothing. You were pretty much the picture of health in (18)-1900's standards, and you'd never passed out from a spot of bad news before-you'd never be conscious at that rate. Still, it's something you thought you could push aside for now, not really much you could do unless it happened again. Now, you only looked into Arthur's eyes, a sad, desparate expression layering your face. "Did they tell you about what John heard?"

Immediately, Arthur's face hardened from soft concern to cold anger, and he looked through a hole in the tent tarp before he turned back to you nodding. "They did." 

You swallowed hard the lump in your throat, failing to keep your breathing under control and felt as the tears stang at your eyes. "I'm sorry," you whispered, the tears falling as the words spilled out.

The silence from Arthur was suffocating, you couldn't even bring it in yourself to look at him to spare yourself from seeing Arthur's deep-seated judgement clouding those pretty blues a nasty color. You curled in on yourself, turning your head away from him and hastily wiping at the tears steaming down your face with a sleeve. "This is my fault. I let you all take me in without thinking of the danger I was bringing. I let-I let you _love_ me when I could be the first and only reason you all see the end of the rope. I'm more a burden than I could make up for, and I'll go once I'm stable, I promise-" 

Despite that you felt your head swim from the sudden movements, you immediately felt the rest of your body relax as Arthur snatched the side of your cheek, rolling your head to face him as he hurriedly latched his lips to your's as if were the last earthly thing he had left to do. Those lips, soft, warm, big enough to fill yours but small enough you could still feel them working with such practice, attention, protective and caring against your own, you'd never felt more warm and comforted without them. Arthur wasn't always a man of words, he was better suited to actions. You had no complaints to that, given his actions always meant so much more than words that could be made lies. His actions also seemed to know how to care and comfort his woman more than any words could. You sighed happily against his lips as you felt him pulling away, dragging your teeth against his bottom lip before you felt it give way with a pop.

When your eyes reopened, Arthur was staring at you. Unabashed, right at you like you were the only thing that mattered to him, those pretty blues almost sea-blues and greens like the calm before a storm as they bore straight through you. You only distantly felt as he brought up his hand, stroking it gently through your hair as you continued to lock into his intense gaze, never wanting him to look away. He blinked slow, lips parting slightly as his breath sent small waves over your face and down your torso. 

"If you think you're the only reason the Pinkertons are after us, Princess, I think it's time you take a little ego check," he said with such a light, caring tone, comforting smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "We're outlaws in a land of laws. They'd be after us no matter what." 

"I'm a liabality, Arthur," you whined, refusing to open your eyes in shame as you covered them with an arm. "If I stay here, you'll all be killed. You all have grown into my family, I couldn't live through loss like that again."

"Princess," Arthur whispered, one hand covering all of yours and squeezing it just lightly enough you could feel the force of meaning behind it. "Hosea is working on a plan for all of it. I know y'all haven't really talked all that much, but I have to ask you to trust him. If you would. I'd trust that man with my life, and up until recently, he was the only one I'd give that honor." He lifted your hand slowly, pressing it close to lips so that his long, hot breaths cascaded over the pale skin of your knuckles. "Please, Sweetheart, give Hosea-give _me_ a chance before you make any rash decisions." 

Your eyes wetted as you stated at that adoring, kind, caring, and absolutely terrified look he was sending you now. You knew it would kill you to have to leave Arthur, and you had a very good feeling it'd be even worse for him. If that wasn't enough of a deal-breaker, you trusted Hosea, to the point where you'd lay your life in his hands if you had to. Which, os almost precisely the case. 

If Arthur trusted Hosea to keep people safe, then you would too.

You swallowed tightly, nodding as you rubbed almost exhaustedly at your eyes. "Okay, Arthur. If you're sure this won't get anyone hurt."

Arthur snorted at the remark, but the smile on his face was wide and genuine at your agreement. "It won't, Princess," he breathed, kissing the tip of your knuckles like a pure gentleman as those sea greens glinted beautifully in the early morning light. "Well, nobody important, at least," he whispered as he gestured widely in the approximate area of Micah's tent. "But, until then-" he shifted, standing up in his chair to maneuver himself to lay squished between you and the nightstand table propped by the cot you were laid up in, getting as comfortale as possible with a slight wince stuck in his features from his earlier battle-given wound, eyes a paralyzing bright green with dark blue speckles rimming the pupils as they stared into your's. "Until then, I want you to stay with me. I got a job? You're riding with me. You're stuck back at the camp because Grimshaw's not done trying to convince you you've ideas above your station? Best bet I'll be lurking around camp somewhere too. I don't want to let you out of my sight, not for one minute." He slowly lifted a hand, brushing a strand of loose hair from your eyes and smoothing it behind your ear, hand resting still on your head behind your ear as his eyes twitched side-to-side as he scanned his face. "I won't lose you nor let some prissy rich man's toy take you from me. Not so long as I'm still breathing. You're _my_ Princess, and I'll let hell freeze over lest someone try fucking with that." He leaned forward, lips ghosting mere inches from your's, head bowed and eyes nearly closed as they opened only slightly to watch your lips with a hard, determined, and frankly incredibly sexy expression. "Okay?" 

You couldn't help but let your lips curl up at the corners, your hand snaking behind his neck and tangling in the long locks of his hair dusting just over his shoulder. "Okay," you whispered, biting down on your bottom lip as your eyes went to watch Arthur's own perfectly rounded, lightly scarred lips. 

_Please, if there's truly anyone up there,_ you felt yourself pleading in a mantra as you felt Arthur's soft lips press against your's, _for the love of every bit of happiness I have left,_ your other hand snaked around his neck to squeeze against his hair too, his lips pressing harder against yours in a show of dominance, _for everything you've put me through,_ you felt your nails dragging against the sheen, impossibly hot to-the-touch skin of his front as you began pawing greedily against the button of his union suit, _for every trial I've ever had to suffer in the name of your plan,_ he groaned longingly against your lips as he bit down hard on your bottom lip, lifting himself up so that he was straddling your legs in his, holding himself up by sheer strength as he effortlessly undid the buttons to your blouse and viciously ripped the offending fabric from your torso, hands snaking around your middle and you lifted your hips slightly as those soft but calloused, big and practiced hands worked to undo your corset, _for the love of everything you're supposed to stand for,_ you let out a small, shrill gasp at the cool and overly welcome feeling of Arthur's lips grazing around the small of your breast, leaving a small trail of spittle as he kissed gently against the skin of your breast until he'd made his way to your nipple, wordlessly opening his mouth and sucking it between his lips, _leave Arthur Morgan the fuck alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know this is a little short-its a bit of a filler chapter and next chapter will most likely be longer! I just wanted to get this out so you guys know I'm still here! College started a few weeks ago and since this whole pandemic happened, I've been juggling between online and in-person classes, and sometimes I let my guard down and stress sneaks it's way into that hassle. But I promise I'm still here, and I've got this whole weekend to get this fic going!  
> Love y'all, always!! ❤️❤️


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Through their banter and several instances of trying to make the both of them believe they hated eachother, I lived for Arthur and John's relationship. You could easily tell that despite it all, behind that stoney wall Arthur built, that their brotherly relationship was genuine and pure, and as much as Arthur and John alike tried to hide it, they obviously loved eachother like real family.  
> So it's only natural that gruff older bro Art's gonna be the one to knock some sense into him about how he's treating that woman and kid of his :)
> 
> Also, as you can probably tell by the first few paras of this that this chapter is heavily based on character development/building. I thought it was a good idea to start getting into the character's heads, rooting out how they feel about certain people, places, and things without losing sight of the plot suffocating the lot of them. Idk, I've always liked the idea of letting people know exactly who my characters are-how they think, how they act, who they are, etc.

Arthur had woken up fairly early in the morning due to a good few days of ordered bed rest, earlier than most everyone in the camp besides Hosea and Dutch-Arthur wasn't entirely sure the latter ever slept more than one or two hours before he was up and attem, and the former was primarily just a pretty early riser. Arthur wasn't much of a morning bird himself, so avoiding Hosea in fears of having to have an actual conversation with his mind already mumbled as much as it was was a tactical choice for him. He lightly opened your tent flap and dipped outside, being quiet as much as he could be to not wake you. 

Dutch smiled mirthfully at Arthur's dishevelled appearance-button up flannel barely buttoned up above his bosom, hatless hair askew from sleep and shoeless as he ever-so-gracefully stumbled out of his tent in his sleep-drunken daze. "Good morning, Arthur," Dutch piped sarcastically, chuckle falling from his lips as Arthur blinked in his general direction with heavily squinted eyes, choosing to reply with a mere groan and petulant, dismissal wave. "Good to see you back up on your feet. You're feeling better, then?" 

Arthur groaned again, hiding his yawn behind his hand as he shook his body awake slowly. "Coffee," was all he managed to say before slinking off toward the middle of the camp, slight stumbles here and there as he went. Dutch rolled his eyes, smiling behind his cigar as he took a long draw in, looking through the holes of Arthur's tent where you were still lay in his cot, dead asleep. 

Dutch hadn't really gotten much of a chance to speak with you, what with the whole Blackwater business and the Pinkertons' surprise visits. He had tried giving you as much space as he believed you'd appreciate, and he certainly wasn't worried for your comfort when he caught sight of Arthur hanging on your arm. Still, the urge to properly introduce himself and get to know you more was certainly there, and now with everything you'd promised to offer the camp seeming ever more essential seeing recent events, that urge had only increased ten-fold. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable, nor to make you feel unwelcome among the gang. His intentions were entirely peaceful. In truth, Dutch found you a valuable asset to the family, what with your remarkable skill with a gun, know-how about survival in both city and wilderness setting, and how easy you'd made most of the camp accept you with open arms. He just wanted to make sure you knew you'd have a home here, as much as you'd like to stay after everything was said and done. 

And, of course, he wanted to know more about Milton. What his weakness are, his strengths, what makes him lose control or guard to slip from his grasp, anything he could use to devise a plan of what to do with them all. The gang may all want him dead, but he knew you wanted it more than all of them combined. You had to have some plan cooking. 

He decided to let you sleep in, but he made it a point to find you alone sometime soon to talk. 

"Arthur," Hosea acknowledged when an overly tired Arthur appeared in front of him, acting as if he was drunk as he stumbled toward the fire. Hosea snickered lightly as Arthur almost burned his toes on searing coals beneath the fire as he squat on his haunches near the pot of coffee he'd just brewed. "This is certainly a pleasant surprise. I don't normally see you up and about for another two hours, at least." 

Arthur gave him a look that told him he'd more than likely be sticking his tongue out at him if it weren't for the coffee cup being shoved greedily to his lips. It made an almost prideful warmth bubble in Hosea's stomach that he could still dig out the boyish side of Arthur, that he hadn't had the misfortune of losing all that kid in him. There weren't many- if any- members of the family that'd had a decent, mostly stable childhood life, but seeing as Arthur was the first one they'd picked up-young, ornery, mischievous and bratty, he and John respectively were as close to he and Dutch's own sons as he would ever get. They might still be young, but they'd never had a chance at being kids. Being able to tease them until they felt like they were delighted Hosea more than he would admit. 

"Not used to being in bed so long," Arthur ground out, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. "Couldn't sleep longer if I tried." 

"Not even with that little lass with you?" Hosea didn't bother hiding his smile as he watched Arthur's cheeks bloom red, blue-green eyes darkening much like the color of the ocean when it got too deep. Hosea had never really talked much with you or Arthur about your 'companionship,' but he hoped you knew how proud he was of you and how much you meant to him. Not only because of the genuinely good-hearted person you were, but because you were somehow able to make his boy happy and practically head-over-heels lovesick. At the beginning, he was cautious of your relationship, stepping on eggshells over you both. Arthur had had far too many broken hearts for his young age, and he absolutely despaired at the toll each took on him. Given the short time it took for you both to call it official, Hosea had reason enough to worry-if the most solid reasoning being that he felt paternally protective over his boy and didn't want to have to see Arthur in that sorry state a third time. But you've more than proved your devotion to him, and then some. And he in you. 

Hosea adored you both. 

"Speaking of, how is she feeling? Gave us a bit of a scare, fainting on us like that."

Arthur took another gulp of his coffee, shrugging slightly. "I asked her about it, but there were few something else's preoccupying her mind." He gave Hosea a knowing look, leaning forward on his toes to be closer to Hosea as he lowered his voice to a near whisper. "Speaking of, you come up with any ideas about how we're gonna go about getting rid of those 'something else's'?" 

Hosea shook his head slightly, eyeing Arthur with an air of sobriety. "I've got one or two things I'm thinking about. You'll know about it when you need to," he said with a tone of finality that told Arthur to drop the conversation without actually saying a thing. He leaned back in his chair, unfolding the newspaper strewn in his lap and holding it in front of his face. "A little optimism, Arthur. Let that girl know hope, and you've nothing to worry about."

Hosea was a wise man. Next to Dutch, he was wiser than the rest of the camp combined. Wisdom beyond something Arthur could understand left him with many questions he couldn't ask because he knew he wouldn't be told the answers. Hosea would crack that regular schpeel about 'knowing what it meant in time.' But Arthur wasn't a patient man, much less a wise one. And there were certain situations, this one in particular, where he didn't feel they _had_ time. It wasn't just Y/N he was worried for-if the Pinkertons could get enough men down here to get her out, their gang wouldn't have a chance-no matter how good their best gunmen were.

But arguing with a man of Hosea's like was about as useful as talking to a brick wall, as stubborn and frankly egotistical the man was. So, with that thought in mind, Arthur gave his departure from the man with an annoyed huff, stalking toward the edge of tent where he could be alone with his frustrations for a while. Hunkering up against a tree and sliding down the trunk until his hands squeezed into the dirt of the ground beneath him, he kicked his feet out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles as he reached into his satchel and pulled out his journal, flipping to a blank page and letting the pencil glide mindlessly across the paper.

* * *

"Quiet morning." 

Arthur very nearly felt his soul leap from his body as he jumped, fumbling with the journal in his hands and slamming it shut, head whipping toward the noise. John stood next to a tree near him, one arm leaning against the trunk as he sipped at the cup of coffee in his hands. His eyes still showed signs of sleep, as if he'd just woken up and found his way here. 

He used to do that a lot, Arthur found himself realizing with an uncharacteristic warmth in his chest. When they were younger and when John joined and for years after that, whenever a new morning came, John always found himself gravitating toward wherever Arthur was-like a lost little puppy clinging to it's psuedo-mother. Like he trusted Arthur more than either Hosea or Dutch, no matter the coddling they'd give him. Arthur never really minded it; in fact, he secretly enjoyed it. Arthur's mom had died of typhoid shortly after he was born, and his 'dad' really wasn't a dad at all. It was good to pretend Dutch, Hosea, and John were his real family, and he took to the role of protective older brother with well-hidden excitement. 

And, even now, with both men well into their early-mid 20's, his heart would still clench happily whenever John would willfully seek him out. Not that he'd let John know that, though. 

"What're you doing here?" He asked gruffly, clutching the journal on the ground next to him, hand pathetically attempting to cover it from John's view. 

It didn't help of course, but John decided to be merciful enough not to mention it. Not just yet, at least. He shrugged, looking down at the black brew making a small spiral from the heat in his cup. "I-don't really know, actually." That was a lie. He knew damn well why he was here, he was just too shy to admit it. "Sean and Karen fucked in my tent last night," his lips quirked slightly at the genuine snort coming from Arthur, "so I didn't really get much sleep."

"And that's not the only reason you didn't get any sleep, is it?" Arthur retorted without thinking, cheeks burning slightly at the familiar brotherly tilt in his voice. He didn't want John knowing he cared so much, or he'd never know the end of it. "That woman of your's biting your ear off all night, I suppose?" He tried to add sternly, giving off an air of nonchalance. 

John saw right through it. "No." He took another long sip of his coffee, glancing over Arthur's figure. He was leaning heavily against the trunk of the tree, feet crossed at the ankles in front of him while his arms were also crossed stoically across his chest, looking straight forward as if John were never really there at all. "Been thinking about some things, recently." 

"Must be quite the strenuous chore for you, Marston," Arthur snorted sarcastically, but for his part did finally turn his head to stare at his brother with an expression opposite his bodily disposition that proved his true sentimentalities. "Thinking never came easily for you." 

John didn't take the bait, instead offering a small snort at the joke as he delegated to keep that glance on him as much as he could. With the way those eyes were looking at him, John all but felt like a little kid again, running to stay by Arthur's side, that same look he used to get when John would stumble into his tent late at night, mind plagued with nightmares and Arthur would spare him that same glance, talking well through the night and into the next morning to calm him or, even better and rarer an occurrence, when Arthur would allow John to climb into that tiny cot with him, letting John burrow into his warm, grounding and hard chest as Arthur lazily draped his arms around his body, falling asleep quickly and letting John be lulled into a peaceful sleep of his own against Arthur's warm, steady embrace and heavy breaths. 

For all his attempts at pretending Arthur hated him, John knew damn well Arthur loved him like a little brother, and John would always look at him as the best older brother he could've asked for. 

Not that he'd let Arthur know that, of course. 

"Yeah, well, look at the teachers I had. Never had a chance with you lot." He chided, reveling in the way it made Arthur's brow crinkle in mock offense, a defiant huff shot at him before Arthur looked away. John ignored the small sting of hurt when his eyes left him. "You're half right, honestly." He began again, downing the rest of his coffee and tossing the empty cup at his feet. "I can think, but I've never really had to think this _much_ before. It's-" he sighed, closing his eyes and slamming his head back against the tree he was leaning against. "It's fuckin' stupid." 

Arthur sighed at the almost pleading tone in John's heavy voice, sparing him a quick glance before he situated himself further down the trunk he was laying against, patting the dirt beside him. "Alright, c'mere," he said in a commandeering tone as he glanced back at John's gaping expression. 

John froze, his mind moving a mile a minute as he just stared. _This wasn't real, was it? Not after all these years~._ "W-what?" 

Arthur sighed disdainfully, leveling Marston with an annoyed glare. "Either take the offer of slump off and brood somewhere else, you're killing the mood."

John probably would've laughed if he wasn't so surprised, body racked with nerves as if this were the first time Arthur showed any kind of affection or caring towards him, which wasn't all that wrong. It hadn't happened in a _hell_ of a long time. Still, despite his inability to utter a single noise of affirmation or denial, his feet took over for him and before he really realized it, he was sitting down next to Arthur, booted feet resting next to Arthur's bare ones. 

Numbly, he felt something being pressed into his lap. Looking down, he was surprised to see Arthur pressing his journal into his lap, looking at him with a fake bored expression before gazing back at the rising sun in front of them. "You wanna see what I was drawing?" 

He couldn't deny that the curiosity of wanting to know exactly what caught Arthur's attention was in the back of his mind, but more curious was he to where this conversation was heading. "What's this gotta do with-" 

"Just shut up and look, Marston. Last page." Arthur grunted, sighing as he leaned his head back against the trunk, closing his eyes and ignoring the confused glare John was fixing him. 

Eventually, John let the urge to peek take over as he pressed his fingers in between the journal pages and the binding strap Arthur had used as a place-marker, tentatively opening it, and his confusion only grew. 

Spread across the two pages was a drawing of a sun setting over the horizon, peeking minutely over mountainous hills, flowers askew on ground level and in the center of the page, lying on a blanket strewn across the grassy floor, was a drawing of Abigail, lying on her side with her limbs stretched haphazardly this way and that, looking straight at John with a beaming smile that mirrored the twinkle of her eyes. Hair askew, covering parts of her face as she smiled toward him, one hand slightly raised in a half-wave.

John finally tore his gaze from the drawing, glance moving toward Arthur who had one eye creaked open, watching him with an expectant glare. John stammered, lips quivering against the inability to grasp coherent words, shrugging widely. "Okay, so you're a good drawer. I dunno what that's gotta do with-" 

"What do you see in that picture, Marston?" Arthur broke him off, other eye opening to glare at him head-on. 

John furrowed his brows against the stagnant confusion and frustration as a consequence of his unbearable confusion, glaring down at the picture with an annoyed huff. "Sun's setting over the mountains, trees and flowers everywhere, and Abigail's laying there in the middle and smiling."

"Hmm," Arthur grunted, smiling infuriatingly matter-of-factly as he hunkered back against the tree trunk, closing his eyes again.

"What?" John hissed, frustration only building as Arthur refused to help him understand where the _fuck_ this was going. 

"You're wrong," Arthur simply said, smile only growing at John's incredulous scoff. 

"Wrong?" He almost shouted, his cheeks inflaming against his inner-quarrel. "What the hell do you mean I'm wrong? That's all the picture is!" 

Arthur, smug smile on his face, opened his eyes and fixed John with a telling gaze, leaning over and jabbing a lithe finger at the drawing of Abigail. "Marston, that ain't a drawing of Abigail. That's Y/N." He crossed his arms, gesturing for him to look back down at the paper with a slight murmur about why the fuck would he be drawing pictures of Abigail anyway, but he was far too confused to answer that.

John sputtered wildly, feeling as if he were about to explode from the inside out as he vehemently shook his head. "The fuck? No it's not, that's-" he stopped still, words paralyzed on his lips as he looked down again and noticing that it was, in fact, Y/N smiling back at him. "What the hell?" He whispered, feeling almost light-headed against the strange warmth stinging through his fingers and toes. 

Slowly, gently and with a care John hadn't known Arthur still capable of, Arthur plucked the journal from John's grasp, closing it back up and setting it on the ground next to him. He brought his feet up to sit crossed in front of him, fixing John with the most knowing, careful and kind glare he thought he'd ever given him. 

"I didn't tell you what the drawing was because then you'd be expecting what to see. I let you look for yourself blind, so that instead of seeing what you _had_ to see, you'd look at the picture and see what you _wanted_ to see." 

John suddenly felt the stinging of his eyes as they watered, quickly bringing up an arm and swiping them away before they could fall in front of Arthur. His head suddenly felt incredibly heavy but he still somehow felt as if he were swimming in air as he stared straight into Arthur's soulful gaze. "I-I don't-'" 

"You saw Abigail, John. You believed that it was a drawing of her so much that it took me having to tell you what it really was for you to see the drawing as it actually was. You saw Abigail because you _wanted_ to see her, John. You _want_ Abigail." 

John felt as a single tear begin to drip slowly down his cheek, but he was far too numb to will himself to wipe it away. "I-" he began and ended there, no real idea of what to say because _fuck_ was Arthur actually right about something for once. 

A firm squeeze against his shoulder, understanding and almost apologetic was the next thing John felt. "I know I give you a lotta shit about you running out on 'em like you did, but it's just because I care about you, John. Care about them, too. World's worst liar you are, telling yourself you don't give a damn about either of them if even I can see how much you actually care."

John nodded slowly, swallowing the salty taste of tears as they fell onto his tongue as he hugged his arms closer to himself, staring at an incredibly interesting ball of dirt on the ground between them. "What do I do, Arthur?" He felt himself whispering in impulse, squinting against the next onslaught of tears as he realized how damn right Arthur was about this. 

"You get your ass up and go after your woman, you dense bastard!" Arthur scolded him light-heartedly, thumping his fingers against the side of his head. 

John felt himself chuckling lightly, lifting this head and looking toward the camp, mostly still asleep with only a few early risers meandering here and there. "S'still too early, she's probably still asleep." He grunted, gaze flicking toward Arthur. 

Arthur sighed, shrugging as he turned back toward the dawn sky, leaning back and keeping his gaze on the pretty pinks, blues and reds scattered across the sky. "Then I guess you still got a few hours to sit and stew on how the hell you're gonna make it up to that girl of your's in that few five minutes or so before she brings that meaty right hook sailing across your face," he joked, smirking slightly as he nodded toward the sky. "I ain't going nowhere." 

It went unsaid, but John knew that was an invitation to stay by his side and watch the world wake up with the rest of them. And so he took it, situating himself so that he was sitting back against the tree, parallel to Arthur as he set his gaze toward the morning sky. "Thank you," he whispered almost mutely, refusing to look at him as his face was locked and fixed in front of him. 

"Hmm," Arthur made a grunt of affirmation-he was just as bad as John was when it came to taking a thank you. He shifted slightly against the trunk, making himself comfortable as they lapsed into a companionable silence, watching that pretty sky shine against their skin and leaving it in a dark pink hue. "Yer still a fuckin' idiot though, Marston," Arthur finally broke the silence, fixing John with a lopsided grin. 

John groaned, laying a swift kick against Arthur's ankle bone but Arthur caught as the same smirk ghosted John's lips, too. "Shut the fuck up, Morgan."

* * *

You physically felt as your heart swelled to twice it's size when you found the pair later that morning. There they were, backs laying up against a tree, Arthur's head resting against John's shoulder and John's head resting on Arthur's head, both completely dead to the world. Of course, you had questions about how the hell the two had went from constant squabbles and fights to cuddling up to eachother like this, but you kept those to yourself. It was good enough you could catch them in a rare moment like this, no matter if they'd wake up snapping at each other's throats again.

Unfortunately, you had to experiment with that last thought sooner than later, as Hosea had caught you as soon as you walked out of Arthur's tent and told you to find the boys and meet him in Valentine-he had a plan. So, with a heavy heart, you sighed, stepping carefully between their legs and crouching down in front of them, one hand going to each of their shoulders and shaking them gently. "Hey boys," you whispered gently, shaking their shoulders a little harder as they hadn't shown a sign of moving. "C'mon, it's time to get up." 

Slowly, they came to, John first as he realized with panic where he was and who was watching, ripping his body away from Arthur's and scrambling to his feet. Arthur abruptly came to when his body smacked hard against the floor. "Ow," he grunted pointedly, picking his head up from the ground to fix John with a murderous glare before his eyes met your's, softening immediately as he gave you a sleepy, beautiful smile. "G'murnin, Princess," he mumbled, sitting up to face you fully. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" 

You rolled your eyes against his over-politness but couldn't ignore the way the tips of your ears burned slightly as you took Arthur's arms, yanking him up to standing with you. "Hosea's got a plan," you said and noticed as both John and Arthur became incredibly alert now as all attention was fixed in you. "He wanted us to meet up with him in Valentine to go through it." 

"Okay, just lemme get changed and I'll-" Arthur's brows furrowed as John turned on his heel, wordlessly making his hasty retreat ad Arthur sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before continuing. "I'll meet you by the horses." 

"What was that about?" You asked, gesturing to the space John used to fill. 

"Don't worry about it, Princess," Arthur mumbled, giving you a small wave before padding off back toward the direction of his tent. 

Your brows furrowed as you watched both the men's backs turned away from you, disappearing behind their tents. You had no idea what shit you'd just stepped straight into, but there wasn't much you could do about it now-too many things were taking priority for them all and you honestly had no idea what the hell was going on as it was. 

Sighing, you shrugged mutely to yourself and made your way to the horses, leading both Arthur and John's horses over to where your's was, hoisting yourself up in the stirrups and anxiously waiting for John and Arthur's return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will have both the plan, and the plan in action.  
> Shit's gonna go down, and rats and snakes alike should take extra precaution before the next chapter comes, if y'all know what I mean. Which you probably don't.  
> Sorry.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***PLEASE READ, VERY IMPORTANT!***
> 
> Hey guys!  
> So, this chapter is going to be incredibly dark and there are many, many trigger warnings I wanted to point out before making you all go in blind. If any of these trigger warning make you uncomfortable at all, you go ahead and get off this chapter and if you'd still like to know the shortened, sweet version of the story for plot-sake, shoot me a message or leave a comment and I'll get that right to you! I care about you all so much and do not want to stir any repressed memories/cause episodes for anybody who may have had horrible experiences much like there will be in this chapter. Please please hold yourself to the highest priority and click off if these don't sit well with you in any way! ♥️
> 
> TW's:  
> *MENTIONS/IMPLIED RAPE*  
> *GRAPHIC DOMESTIC ABUSE*  
> *MISCARRIAGE*  
> *SUICIDAL IDEATIONS/TENDENCIES*  
> *GRAPHIC WOUND DESCRIPTION*  
> *CHARACTER DEATH*  
> I will be making sure to update the tw list accordingly, so if you all feel I missed anything triggering, anything at all, let me know and I will add it right away! Love you all, so much!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is considerably longer than most. That is because it signifies the end of the first half of this fic. There will be a second half coming very soon, with the same characters of course, but a fresh plotline that will be a lot more docile than the plot of the first half. Not completely devoid of action and angst, no, but definitely lesser in the extent.  
> Love you all so much, again, and thank you so much for sticking with me this far. I hope I'm still providing you some sort of entertainment, and that you'll stick around for the next half too! ♥️

_There was a distinct difference between waking and swimming back into consciousness. One insinuated you had a choice, and you'd made that choice yourself. The other usually involved a much more brutal awakening, whether physical pain paralyzing your body, or mental anguish all the same._

_For 10 straight years, ever since you were 16 years old and old enough to legally marry off, you'd never had a chance to experience what choice felt like. When you had it, you'd taken it for granted. You swam back into wakefulness every morning you were held captive by the very people that took that choice away from you, sometimes blissfully numb to everything going around you, sometimes feeling as if your insides were on fire and your outsides were being crushed under the agonizing aches all over every inch of your skin._

_And once, you'd woken up alone, cold, and in make-shift bed full of your own blood._

_You thought it was a nightmare, when it had happened. More of a nightmare than you were forced to live while awake, at the least. Your blood as cold as ice, your limbs uncontrollably trembling as you began to hyperventilate over the sheer amount of blood spilling across your lower body, staining and turning the entire bedsheet laying over wooden boards in a deep, crimson red. Any attempts to move were met with incapacitating pain your lower abdominal region, like repeatedly being stabbed with a knife just for it to be pulled out and drove right back into your skin, tearing through muscle and bone alike. You numbly felt as hot, so incredibly hot tears streaked numbly down your cheeks as you head spiked every new second with immense pain, hot spikes pounding against the pain and washing in uncomfortable waves down your body._

_The blood. So, so much blood, you thought for sure you were dying. You'd thought for years what it might feel like to die, and in most times, religiously wished for it-though it was hardly like you were living at all._

_It isn't until you think it's happening that you realize how paralyzingly terrifying it is and how desperately helpless you are in those paralyzing few seconds where you realize you_ _really didn't wish to die after all._

_But there was nothing you could do. You couldn't move from the pain, you had no way of calling for help-you were kept in that decrepit barn miles from the three-story mansion your 'husband' slept on with warm, satin sheets hugging his body in such soft comfort-and all the housemaids were out for the weekend._

_You had to make the decision on your own to find whatever peace you could discover still in you, digging as deep as deep could go, hold on to only that feeling-and let go._

_You weren't sure how long you lay, barely alive, coated with your own blood and other bodily fluids with no real idea what was happening, every second bringing you closer to death-whether from the blood loss, hypothermia, or sheer unwillingness to live._

_You were barely conscious as you felt yourself being yanked up onto someone's shoulders, eyes opening to only half-lidded as your head was submerged into water that probably should have been ice-cold against you, should have had your teeth clattering maniacally together and your body reacting in kind to it, but you felt nothing. Absolutely nothing as two muted, blurred figures over you scrubbed religiously at your legs, thighs, feet, buttocks, anywhere where the blood had coated and stained, becoming part of your skin. Your consciousness faded in-and-out repeatedly throughout the entire night's-or was it day's-ordeal, waking again hours, days later and immediately woke to tears stinging your eyes under the severe ache in almost every inch of your body._

_Under the immense pain, you could barely make out two words that a woman, indignant to your pain and prodding your body coldly and despondently with a look of utter disgust toward your state, muttered disdainfully toward you as you woke._

_Three words, somehow all that struck through the conscious focus on the unbearable pain stretching malignantly through your body, clung painfully to your brain as you felt your body numb almost blissfully at the mention of them._

_Worthless, pathetic, and miscarriage._

_You hadn't even know you were pregnant._

_Every night, he'd come and have his way with you, forcing you to keep that smile, and that smile was quite possibly the most pain you've ever felt before to maintain, plastered on your face lest the public began to question why someone supposedly so happy never even smiled. Or worse, lest he catch you looking at him in a wrong way, your smile not stretched enough cross your face, it not resonating enough in your eyes, and he would beat you savagely until you were very near death, leaving you to your own devices to clean up and prepare yourself for the next night when he'd repeat the process all over again._

_In a way, you found miscarriage a blessing. That that baby would not have to be thrust into your world, where their father would never make time to even notice them-or worse yet, training them into being just as he was, with a mother they'd never meet, a mother that would more than likely be dead by the time they were three. No child should be forced to be born into a world where they are not loved and cherished just for being alive, you knew that more than anyone._

_Yet, the crippling loss of a presence you were not even aware was being made in you, a very life you could have been making sucked out of you before you even had a chance to say hello-or goodbye in this case-the loss and numbness was crippling. You cried for a very, very long time. You didn't even care how that monster took it out on you for it, how severely he beat the very life away from you, you cried. You cried._

"Y/N?" 

You blinked slowly, mind fogging from the cruelty of your past to the image of John, Hosea, and Arthur-your Arthur, the man that respected and cared for you more than you ever even could yourself, the man that would lay his very life down to protect you-all staring at you with worrying, concerned glances. You looked down, realizing you'd bloodied your palms with the sharpness of your nails boring into your flesh. You winced, dislodging them from your skin and accepting the handkerchief Arthur had already been pressing with purpose towards you, gingerly wiping at the crimson sketched haphazardly across your palm. 

You stopped dabbing at the blood, instead watching it as it formed into red dots, tilting your hand slightly and watching as it dripped across your palm in kind, trickling slowly off your skin and dropping to the wood floor underneath you with a drop that would normally be inaudible, but it was incredibly loud in your ears. 

You let your eyes trail to John, a worried glance on his face, then to Arthur, a pitying glance on his, and then Hosea, a deep-rooted, understanding and immensely warm glint in his eyes as he held your gaze indefinitely in his, for just as long as you wanted him to. 

"Anything." You whispered, hand reaching up to cover the supporting hand Arthur had pressed tightly against your shoulder. "I will do anything it takes to kill that bastard once and for all."

* * *

"What do you mean, you don't know? They're not exactly easy to let slip by unnoticed!" Dutch barked angrily at Bill and Lenny, the only two guards patrolling the outer camp that would have been able to see his two best men and right-hand man slither off to God knows where. 

"I said I dunno, Dutch. They must've left damn early in the morning, cuz we ain't never seen anybody leave or come since we started out shifts," Bill gruffed, disinterested as he lit off a new cigarette, smoke slipping from his lips with his words.

Dutch set his seething glare on Lenny who, for his part in the ordeal, had the decency to look absolutely terrified as he shook his head rapidly under his gaze. "I-m'afraid Bill's right, Mr. Dutch. I ain't seen none of 'em all day." 

The raw fury was almost unbearable as it ravaged liquid fire in Dutch's gut, and he screamed out in anger as he quickly turned on his heel, matching back towards camp to bother some other pair of idiots. 

"They all seem to be doing this a lot, don't they?" Dutch stalled at the voice, whirling behind him to see Micah leaning on one foot against the barrel the camp money box was resting on, knife in one hand and stick of wood in the other. "Matter of fact, ever since that new girl joined us, I don't think I've seen hide not tail of either of them around camp for no more than a day at most till they all disappear again." He shrugged, knife gliding effortlessly against the wood as he widdled-something, whistling tunelessly to himself. "Gotta wonder what they get up to out there, what kind of things they might be sayin'. The capacity for betrayal, evil and wrong in one humans brain is-rather endless." 

And against every better judgement Dutch had against the essence of Hosea and his boys' characters, regardless of how long they'd been together as a family and how much they'd all done for eachother, Dutch melted right into Micah's pot of obvious, honeyed lies. "You're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting." Maybe he would have once meant it as a warning, a serious final chance to take it back before bad things happen, but now, now it came out as a small, frail question. 

Micah, again only shrugged as he glanced minutely up to Dutch before looking back down to his widdling. "I dunno, I'm probably just talking crazy. Arthur and Hosea, they sure like to make it seem like I am, at least." He said with obvious insinuation in his undertones, standing as if he were making his way to leave. "It's just certainly something to lie awake about sometimes, is all."

And then, Micah left Dutch to his own stewings, a sly and vicious smile hidden under the brim of his hat as he heard Dutch begin to swear viciously behind him. 

He'd finally slimed his way through. 

* * *

"No." 

"Arthur," Hosea began, but Arthur was already standing swiftly from the table. 

"I won't let you be bait for that scum, Princess," Arthur said, eyes black as they studied you unmoving. "I ain't ever gonna put you willingly into harm's way while I'm still standing here and could do something about it. I promised I'd protect you, and that ain't it."

"Arthur," you whispered, reaching across the tables and grabbing one of his hands in both of your's. "Please."

"Darling," his tone softened immediately, blue-green eyes the color of the sky over the grassy horizon on a spring afternoon and staring straight into you as his thumb etched patterns into your skin. "What that thing did to you was vile, disgusting, inhuman. Worse than worst could get, and I promise you with everything in my heart that I will hand-deliver the pathetic excuse for a human being to you to do whatever you find suitable to, but this ain't the way, Princess. There's far too many risks, and what kind of man would I be if I let you, the love of my life, the most beautiful soul I've ever had the undeserving pleasure to call my own, send herself off on a suicide mission?" He paused, eyes fluttering as he leaned down, peppering your knuckles with soft, gentle kisses before he looked over his shoulder back at Hosea. " _Please,_ Hosea. Please, for the love of everything I've ever done for you and Dutch, for the gang, please don't let her do this." 

Hosea was uncharacteristally silent, gaze toward Arthur albeit pitying before turning his attention back to you with an expectant glare. "That's Y/N's choice to make, not mine."

"I-" you faltered not because you weren't sure of your decisions, because you never made a promise you couldn't keep. You paused because the last time you'd seen someone look at you with that level of care, of pure unadulterated love, that Arthur was fixing on you now, was when you father watched you leave his sight for the last time. The tears stung your eyes at sight, threatening to fall over as you took a shuddering breath in. "Arthur, I-"

"Why does she have to be the bait?" John interrupted, the first thing he'd said since you'd found him and Arthur this morning. "Micah's a hotheaded dipshit with literally anyone if you rub at him enough." He looked over at Arthur purposely, then back toward Hosea. "Make me or Arthur do it. He hates our guts and wants to sell us out just as much as he does her." He looked over to you now, protective glint in his eyes like a brother looking after his sibling. "We get him to ride out with one of us on some bullshit job, we conveniently make a stop over at Valentine, he's sure enough to tell his little friends all about our trip-' _alone,'_ and you lot can be traveling just behind without anyone knowing the wiser."

"That could work," Hosea piped in, giving John a nod of approval. "It doesn't have to be you, I just thought he'd believe in the story easier if it was someone he has no idea hates his guts." 

You looked slowly, carefully around the table, all three of it's other patrons staring at you with expectant, cautious and vigilant eyes and you could never have asked for better people to have your back. You'd been on your own, fighting just to stay afloat for such a long time-having to face the risk and arduous hell of a life all on your own because absolutely nobody in that entire fake, horrifying life of yours had your back or your best interests at heart. But these three do. They all do, besides the rat. You felt your throat closing against the swelling of your heart, feeling as if even if there were risks that needed to be taken, even if a task seemed rather too dangerous to take on, that it didn't scare you like it once had. As long as these three were on your side, you could take on the very wrath of god with no fear. 

"You'd all sacrifice everything for me, and you've barely even met me." You started, flicking your eyes longingly at all three of them. None of them dared argue against the truth, staring still at you as you continued. "I can't help but think I'm not worthy of this kind of praise, this kind of admiration and protection. And I know-," you paused, holding up a finger at the fact that all three looked like they were simultaneously about to object, "I know it's foolish to have those doubts, and that admitting them would just be a waste of my breath. But, truthfully, it scares me." You bit hard down on your lip to keep it from quivering, tasting iron before reopening your mouth. "If I lost you," you whispered as your voice broke, clinging tightly to Arthur's arm, "or any of you," you grabbed hold of John's hand with your free hand and glared stoically at Hosea, "because of my problems, my mistakes and my unwillingness to do all it takes in my power, then I wouldn't be able to live with myself. The pain would be-'' you eyes shut against the horrific images flashing through your mind, "well, it would be like I'm back where I was 12 years ago, a little 14 year old girl with her mother's blood crusted in her hair, her father giving his daughter up because he knew it was the only way to keep her alive, with nowhere to turn and nobody to live on for. I can't, I don't ever want to be that little girl, ever again."

"But Princess, I-"

"Y/N, c'mon-"

"Boys," Hosea said sternly, giving them both scolding looks before turning back to you, eyes acceptant and knowing, not even having to ask but did anyway, "So, what's that means Y/N?"

"That I'm the bait." Both John and Arthur showed avid distaste for the plan, but still Arthur's grip on you grew harder, John squeezing comfortingly against your hand. Even though they adamantly disagreed, they still had your back and would do nothing without your full consent. Your eyes unabashedly stung with tears now as you looked down at your boots, glueing your eyes there. "I'll get him out of camp, you lot follow behind." 

The look of disagreement, unsettlement, and even betrayal stapled onto Arthur's features, turning the corner of his lips down and creasing lines in his forehead, was enough of make your heart beat painfully, but there was not a chance in hell you were changing your mind on this. You had far too much to lose if you did. That determination must've shown clearly in your features, because Arthur gave you a disgusted grunt before slipping his hand out of your grip, swiftly standing and crashing his way out of the saloon doors. 

All three of you looked, stunned at the space where Arthur used to fill, your mouth continuing to open and close as if you wanted to say something but had forgotten how-the lump in your throat tremendously painful against the silence around the table. 

"He'll come around," Hosea said, more confidently than either of them really felt. "He won't ever come around to your choice, but he won't ever let you get hurt. That I'm certain of." 

You sighed somberly. You believed in Hosea's words, but couldn't scratch that look of despair and betrayal from Arthur's features. It brought along with it a strong, uncomfortable sense of dread pillowing deep in your stomach and taking up permanent residence there. Had your choices effected more than just his feelings being hurt? You shivered violently at the thought, but unfortunately couldn't hold that as precedence now. There was far too much at stake, and you needed to act as fast as you could before _someone_ picked up in something they shouldn't. 

You sat back in your chair, fixing Hosea with a strong-headed glance.

"When do we start?"

* * *

_You heard the high-pitched, faded ringing in your ears under the force of his hand colliding across your face, fave stinging a bright red you could feel burning your face, a wet drip of crimson trickling down from where the rings on his knuckles had broke skin against your cheekbone._

_You'd only just barely healed from your miscarriage, your stitches just faded when he payed you a special little visit-the first you'd seen of him since that small glimpse of his red coat as he was practically drowning you in the bathtub that night. He had ordered the nursemaids to ever-so-graciously allow you to stay in the basement of his house, since winter had dawned on the landscape and there was no insulation in the barn unless you planned on climbing into bushles of prickly hay each night. He looked at you as not a person at all, but a toy he never really grew tired of playing with. He couldn't have his toy breaking on him, not when it's uses still meant something of value to him._

_The nursemaid tending to your wounds and applying numbing cream invasively to your folds was the only person in the room when he stalked in, paying for that unfortunate mistake with a swift slap across the back of the head before he allowed her to scurry off, leaving just the two of you alone in the room._

_His face was like stone, hard and rigid, the pure blackness of his eyes a look that would once have elicited stagnant terror in your stomach, but now you were just too used to this look to feel anything but neutral numbness, almost as if you were forced to view yourself out-of-body as you lay in front of him, body completely bare under his thuggish glare. He snarled, ugly features just getting uglier as he towered over you, hands colliding hard across your cheek, grabbing you by the roots of your hair while you were on the ground and dragging you further towards the stairs leading to the main floor. Hand still gripped firmly into your hair, he dragged you up the wooden steps, your ribs thudding mercilessly against each step until you felt a distinct pop in your side, an instant sharp heat like lava swimming in your stomach. Bile rose quickly in your throat as the pain made itself clear, echoing through your body and by god, you had to hold that down. You had to, or else he-_

_He threw you bodily against the stone white tiles of the main floor's kitchen, you falling bodily into your already cracked ribs and you saw white completely cloud over your vision, parting your lips to take a painful breath in and tears rushing from your waterline as the bile burst from your throat. You tried your hardest to curl in on yourself, to duck your head near your body so that you'd only get the vomit on you, not on his marble white floors or his shiny black shoes, but the white blinding your vision made it so you just couldn't see where you were aiming, and fear ran your blood so cold when you heard the wet smack of it hitting against the hard surface of the floor._

_"Ugh, you disgusting bitch," you heard him growl before hands grabbed at your arm in a bone-crunching grip and forcing you on your back, head bouncing against the floor from the force of his yank, and before you even had time to prepare, the heel of his boot came down hard on your stomach. You let out a low groan of pain, and with it, a large clot of blood dribbled from your parted lips from between your teeth, dripping down in a steady line off your bottom lips and collecting into a puddle atop your chest._

_"This is all your fault. I could've had a son, a goddamn **son,** you ungrateful, murderous bitch," he hissed, foul smell of tobacco, alcohol, and untended oral hygeine washing in a nauseating wave just over your face. "You killed him, and now.." he chuckled darkly, so telling and saditious that left your body shaking so violently, barely even acknowledging the stabbing pain as it jostled your shattered ribs. "Now, I'm gonna kill you."_

_Immediately, your world went black and you weren't sure if you had fainted or he'd finally hit you hard enough, but the next thing you knew you woke up with a pain you're not even sure you should have even truly been alive with that level, but somehow, you were. You thought that maybe Milton had begun to believe you were too, because when your head lolled drunkenly to the left, he had for the first time, made the mistake of letting his guard down, passed out slumped against the kitchen counter with a bottle of vodka still cradled loosely in one hand, and a cigarette lighter in the other. You refused to dwell on what you already knew he was planning to do, and out of a pure God's miracle, you were able to lift yourself up despite your grevious injuries, easily escaping the field on which his mansion sat because he stupidly decided not to have night staff or security patrolling at night. You remembered somehow being able to lift yourself up into a stable horse's stirrups, the blinding pain again making itself clear as you coaxed it forward, well out of view of the plantation before you promptly passed out again from the severity of your injuries._

_Some passerby had been kind enough to pick your sickly body off the ground and race you toward the nearest doctor, one in Saint Denis that thankfully didn't know who you were no matter how many times you were forced into gallivanting around the city with Milton, charging you nothing for your time even though he'd spent most of his resources saving your life._

_It took a very long time to trust again, but that doctor and whoever that anonymous person was that brought you there gave you a running headstart._

_Which then lead you into a trickle of events that eventually lead you to where you are now, a part of a family of outlaws who'd give themselves up willingly to murder the authorities of law._

_You couldn't have followed a better path._

"Mr. Bell," you greeted Micah with the biggest, fakest smile you could muster, leveling your voice as cheery, but not pointedly obvious as you stood just outside his tent.

He looked up from the book he was pretending to read, you're sure to make Dutch think he was studious, giving you a questioning, dirty glare as he sized you up against the poles of his tent. "Y/N. To what do I owe this pleasure?" 

"I was wondering if.." you stopped, looking dramatically over your shoulders before leaning further into his tent, fingers touching over your lips. "Well, I've seen the way those girls-politely putting it of course, treat you around here and frankly, I don't think they're being quite fair with you." As disgusting as you felt fake flirting with the man, you had to keep up appearances and gave him a sly, hopefully seducing smirk. "I believe I could possibly show you just how much you deserve, if you'd like to accompany me." You winked slightly at the still dumbfounded look on his face, stomach churning uncomfortably as his gaze left your face and trailed down to your breasts. 

With a hungry, vicious smirk, he stood up, tilting the brim of his hat subtedly toward you before brushing past you, not before he leaned his head back to ghost just over your ear. You tried your hardest to keep the grimace off your face from the putrid odor he have off as he leaned in, whispering, "Meet me by the horses, sweetheart, and I'll take you on a trip you'll never forget." 

You felt yourself frozen in fear long after Micah had stalked off toward the horses, and when you'd finally regained some control over your senses, you turned to see Arthur glaring bloody murder at Micha, and it looks could kill. His eyes found yours, and they held on with a tinge of distress on his part, but for you, a look of pure comfort and you knew then that Arthur Morgan would never leave you to face danger alone, no matter what. 

You sighed, shaking your body nervously and making your way to Micah-bedore you felt somebody wrap their hand around your arm, holding you back. You whipped around to see it was Dutch, eyes angry and suspicious as they looked over you. "Y/N, where have you been? I've been looking for you all morning."

"I-" you stopped, eyes minutely glancing back to see that Arthur had migrated next to John and Hosea, his eyes still a stagnant comfort on you before he leaned over, diverting Hosea's attention to you. "I was with Hosea. He wanted Arthur and John with me to talk about a job he'd picked up around Valentine." 

"Oh, really?" Dutch chuckled, but it was devoid of all humor as he let go of your arm. "So, how big's this job then, if it takes four people to do?" 

"I'd be happy to let you in," Hosea's voice sounded from somewhere behind you, and when you looked, he was coming up from behind you with a confident smirk on his face. He pressed a hand over your shoulder, squeezing once before looking back to Dutch. "Y/N here has a lot she's gotta get to right now, but I'll happily take over and let you know all about it."

Dutch, looking mighty displeased with himself but still relenting under Hosea's gaze, sighed and gave you a silent wave of his hand. You nodded, tapping the brim of your hat before quickly walking over to the horses. When your eyes trailed tot he right of you, you saw John and Arthur trailing you slowly, figures obscured by the woods surrounding the camp. Relief washed over you in waves to see the two of them staying close by you, to yourself as you'd made your way to the horses to see Micah already on his horse, glaring at his pocket watch with a scowl. 

"I'm so sorry, Micah, Miss Grimshaw caught me in camp and, well, you know how she is-"

"Whatever," micah said coldly, nodding toward your horse. "Just hop on so we can go." 

"We're gonna stop by Valentine first," he said as soon as you'd sat on Theo's saddle. "I've got a few things I gotta pick up there. But then, lass, I'll take us out where nobody'll be able to interrupt us. Hear you screaming my name." You thought minutely to ask how Micah wasn't at all worried about the fact that you were publically still on Arthur's arm, but then you remembered who exactly you were giving too much credit to, and you held your tongue.

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat at his suggestive tone, nodding. "You take all your pretty lasses out here, Mr. Bell?" You asked, keeping a flirtatious air to your voice no matter how sick it made you feel. 

Micah only offered a confident chuckle, keeping his gaze straight forward which gave you a chance to glance back behind your shoulder. Warmth spread through you as you saw the tell-tale signs of John and Arthur's horses beginning to pass through the clearing a few leagues behind you. You figured Hosea would spin some wild tale for Dutch, then would meet them in Valentine. 

The thought had you smiling, looking straight forward as well. 

* * *

"I got her," Micah boomed as he burst through the sheriff's office that Milton and Ross had taken temporary residence in. Sheriff Malloy gave Micah a look, but rolled his eyes and walked out of the office at his telling glance. 

When Micah turned his attention back to the two agents, Milton's face was beet red, eyes wide as they frantically searched behind him. "Where?" 

"I'm gonna lead her out of town, patch of woods far as the eye can see so to avoid all that extra trouble." 

Milton smiled menacingly, brown eyes turning a sickening hard shade as he nodded. "We'll meet you all there, then." 

"Woah, wait. What's the point of bringing all your men? It's just one girl." Micah sneered, nodding toward Ross. "Bring him, if you feel so ashamed about your abilities, but we ain:t gonna need anymore. Sides, you bring all your men down there and I'd bet ten gold bars to none that they'd come after me, too, and your promise of clemency won't mean shit when you're watching them taking pot shots at me. You two only, or I bring her back to camp and let old Dutch know how vulnerable the two of you are."

Milton sighed, eyes going still in Ross before he grunted, nodding. "Fine, Mr. Bell. You've got a deal." He leaned forward in his seat, wearing the same evil smile from before. "Now, where exactly are you planning on taking her?" 

* * *

"I don't like this," Arthur repeated his usual mantra, grip on the reins of his horse tightening so much the knuckles of his hands were ghostly white as Micah crashed out of the sheriff office, smiling that sick, possessive smile at you before cradling one hand onto your cheek. 

"Calm down," John barked out, grabbing on to Arthur's arm as he made to move toward them. "You'll get your chance, Morgan. Think about his face splattered all over the cement in the meantime."

It helped, that was for sure, but it wouldn't help forever. Arthur sighed, glancing over his shoulders once again. "where the hell's Hosea, anyway? He should've been here a hell of a long time ago."

"Maybe Dutch took more convincing this time. You know how Micah likes getting into his head." 

"Yeah, but that's never stopped Hosea from being able to talk him down before." He sighed, stomach churning uncomfortably as he looked down at his pocket watch. "Maybe one of us should to back, see what the holdup-"

"Gentlemen, such a pleasure to see you here!" Arthur was cut off by the sound of Hosea's voice, twisting in his saddle to see him, and, for fuck's sakes, Dutch riding closely behind with an unreadable expression on his face. 

"Dutch!'' Arthur exclaimed, and he saw as John's eyes widened and he too, whirled around on his saddle to take a look. "What exactly are you doing out here? You're not worried 'bout them Pinkertons looming around town?"

"Not with you lot here, I'm not," Dutch said in a genuine tone, but his face deepened back into a scowl almost immediately after. "Hosea told me you'd all have something to show me 'bout Micah. I figured it was just bullshit, like always, but he was-incredibly persuasive." He spat on the ground, leaning forward on his saddle as he nodded expectantly at John and Arthur. "So, what exactly are you wanting to show me?" 

The boys shared an unsure glancr before looking over to Hosea, who only nodded, confident gleam to his eyes. 

"Uhm," John began, nodding to where Micah and you were beginning to climb into your horses. "Well, they're about to move, so we need to follow them. Discreetly. Can't let them know we're behind them or things'll turn sour fast."

"Just exactly what game are you playing here, boys?" Dutch ground out, acid clear in his voice. "What exactly do you take me for, conspiring against one of our own and expecting me just to blindly-"

"For fuck's sakes, it you truly are that against us, then leave." Arthur groaned, venom in his own voice leveling that of Dutch, who's eyes were incredibly wide-as were everyone else's because nobody expected Arthur Morgan himself to adamantly tell off Dutch. "We're not stopping until this is all said and done, and if you don't wanna stand with us on that, then we don't need you anyway." He nodded toward the two, who were heading out toward the woods surrounding Valentine. "C'mon then, that's our cue." 

Arthur coaxed his horse forward, John not even sparing a glance back at Dutch or Hosea as he followed suit, leaving just Hosea and Dutch together, one of whom was still too stunned to move. "Well, that was certainly unexpected. Good to see that boy hasn't lost all that fire in him, isn't it?" 

He coaxed his horse forward, but Dutch stuck his hand out, latching on to Hosea's arm. "Hosea, what the hell is going on?"

Hosea sighed, nodding toward the retreating form of Arthur and John. "They're our boys, Dutch. We brought them in, raised them, taught them to read, to fight, to live. We may not have been perfect, but we tried our best." Hosea's eyes met Dutch's, and they looked as if they were on the brink of tears, glistening in the bright sun of the afternoon sky. "They're _our_ boys. And I'd stand with them even if they were guiding us straight down to hell, if they asked." Hosea sighed, beginning to coax his horse forward again. "You don't have to come along, Dutch. You could head back to camp with all brand new ideas how to hunt us all down and kill us, but I really need you to ask yourself-and _really_ think about it, who would you really choose to believe? When you're staring up at those ivory gates, or in our case, at the barbed-wire ones, who would you rather see, standing right beside you? Because I know who I'd want, and it certainly ain't Micah Bell." He gave Dutch a curt nod, digging his heels into his horse. "Think about it, Dutch." 

And then Dutch was alone, wounded and terrified, feeling as if he was being pulled in too many directions, his brain and his heart in a constant, heated squabble with eachother. He didn't know what to do, who to believe, he was already paranoid enough-his very way of life being tested by change-he didn't need the very few he called his true family turning on him to. 

_'Dutch,'_

Images of Arthur, young Arthur with an even younger John cowering behind his arm, invaded his mind. 

_'Maybe, maybe I could help teach John how to read? If you and Hosea are okay with it, of course.'_

_'You calling my teaches lackluster, boy?' Hosea replied, but his tone was all but serious._

_Arthur still squirmed under his gaze anyway. 'I, I just. Well, you see him. Won't leave me alone anyway, so's I thought maybe if I tried..' he swallowed, looking up at Dutch with those wide, terrified summer green eyes, fiddling nervously with his hands. 'well, can I?'_

_Dutch stared down at the two of them for a while, John staring down at his feet with his hands clasped tightly together behind him. Dutch felt his heart warm, and a smile that twinned it stretched slowly across his face as he looked back to Arthur, giving him a firm nod. 'if you think it'll help, go ahead, Arthur.'_

_Arthur's little face scrunched up in that cute little smile that still made Dutch's heart jump excitedly, and he nodded, reaching down and grabbing one of John's hands. 'C'mon John, let's go see what goodies Hosea's got stashed away!'_

_'keep your grubby hands off my journal!' Hosea shouted after them, but only sat back on the log next to Dutch, half-smirk plastered on his face as they both watched the boys walk away. 'John still not warmed up to you yet?'_

_'He'll come around. Took Arthur three months, remember?' Dutch chuckled lightly at the imagery of little Arthur, trying to make himself as invisible as possible until he'd show up unannounced in the middle of the night, begging Dutch to let him sleep with him when he had those nasty night terrors he used to get so much._

_'that I do. He never really took well to me, till I came back. My bad,' Hosea retorted with a fond smile, both watching as Arthur lead them to the only high-rise table they had, lifting little John into one of the chairs before he climbed into the one next to him, both boys laughing manically when Arthur's little foot slipped and he fell back against the ground on his rear. Hosea chuckled lightly, slowly reaching over and tapping a finger against Dutch's knee. 'Quite a family we made here, isn't it?'_

_Dutch looked on as Arthur climbed back in the seat, smiling fondly at John before he helped him crack open one of Hosea's storybooks, wrapping a comforting arm around John's back as he began tracking his fingers against the words on the page._

"That it is, Hosea," Dutch mumbled to himself, heart clenching painfully as a pleasant smile stretched slowly across his face. "That it is." 

He sat up further in his stirrups, coaxing The Count forward, hurrying to catch up with Hoses and your boys.

* * *

"Alright, stop here," Micah commanded, pulling sharply on Baylock's reigns to bring him to a stop. 

You felt the familiar dread begin to swim in your stomach as your eyes darted to every possible corner you could see with your own two eyes, expecting to see that pile of filth slink out of the forest any second. You cleared your throat, sliding out of your saddle and using Theo as a physical barrier between Micah and you so that he didn't dare see your pale white, ashen face and suspect something was up. "You need me to do anything, sweetheart?" You asked, surprising yourself with how steady your voice sounded. 

"Yeah, why don't you go ahead and get us a tent pitched up? I'll be out here, you know, _preparing_ myself." The sexual undertones of his suggestion had you shivering again the icy fear already settled in your stomach, and you kept you mouth closed as you nodded, eyes downcast as you walked over to Micah's horse, pulling the tent off it'd back. 

"Hey," Micah forcefully grabbed your arm, yanking you pack and tilting your head up with enough pressure you felt the muscles of your neck pop as he studied your face with a skeptical glare. "The fuck is going on? What's wrong with you face?" 

He let go of your chin as a small mercy, and you rubbed a hand over the inflammation the popped muscles of your neck spread over you. "I just, uh.." you chewed at your lip, smiling slightly as an idea burst into your mind, looking back at Micah with a realistic nervous glare. "I've just never really, _done_ this before. A little nervous, is all."

Micagh looked heavily down at you, scrutinizing glare almost too much for you before you heard him begin chuckling, a low growl that transformed into a disgusting, bone-chilling laugh as he shook his head. "Oh, trust me, darling. If that's true, you couldn't have picked a better person to show you the ropes." 

_Fuck you, you disgusting pig,_ you thought viciously, only offering Micah a small smile before turning you back to him, beginning to set out the tent kit. 

It was almost mercifully quiet as you began setting the tent, which was a small blessing to you so that you could listen intently to the area around you, gauging exactly where _he_ could be hiding, watching you, _watching_ you. Almost on cue to that thought, a twig snapped somewhere to the right of you and stabs of panic coarser through your body as you whipped your head to the sound, panic immediately subsiding as you saw the telling figures of John and Arthur, both crouched low against the trees with rifles strapped to their back, Arthur with a lasso folded over in his hands. To your very surprised, behind them stood _both_ Hosea and Dutch, leaning back behind some trees. Your eyes widened, and you immediately looked over to Arthur and while you couldn't see his eyes as a regular comfort for you, you saw as he slowly nodded, which was reassuring enough for you as you continued setting up the tent, dipping inside to set out a single bedroll in the middle. 

"You about done in there, _Princess?"_ Your skin crawled at the familiar pet name daring slither out of such a rat's lips, and you were sure Arthur was feeling the exact same. 

"Yes, I've just finished," you replied back, quickly reaching inside your bedroll and depositing the pistol you'd stashed there. 

"Great. Why don't you come out here real quick? I've got something I wanna show you that'll be sure to really put you in the mood." 

Your heart pounded hard in your ears, eyes screwing shut-tight as you tried as hard as you could to level out your erratic breathing, pit of dread in your stomach chilling your whole body as you checked the bullet chamber in your pistol one last time, before you ducked your head, climbing slowly out the tent. 

He laughed. The first thing you heard was that sick, disgusting laugh that had your skin crawling against the familiar anxiety that mixed into your internal hurricane of emotions. "Hiding out with a band of murderers and degenerate outlaws, Y/N? Just like dear old daddy. Too bad his good deeds went wasted on you." You felt the tears forming in your waterline, blurrying your vision as you refused to look up at him. "I knew it. Should've offed you when I had the chance. Done a favor for your old man, fitting seeing as that _unfortunate_ accident was all my doing, after all." 

"Shut..the _fuck.._ up," you growled, blinking through your tears as you whipped your head up to look at him, all but ignoring the impounding consternation racking your being as you glared icily at him, whipping the pistol out from the back of your jeans and training it straight toward him. 

He cocked a brow, hands mockingly going up to his sides as he chuckled darkly. "Whatcha gonna do, darling? You were always a shit shot." 

With a sick, terrifying smile stretching slowly across your face, you switched the gun off it's safety, standing straight as you trained the gun right at his head, finger ghosting just above the trigger. "I've been palling around with a band of murderous outlaws, don't you remember? I've had lots of practice," you hissed, closing one eye as you zeroed in on your sights. 

The look of abject terror on his face, and the realization that you made that happen, was absolutely tittilating and you let out a gleeful laugh as you smiled menacingly at him. "Funny, how things turn out, isn't it?" You growled low, finger squeezing lightly against the trigger, aiming the gun true, and then-

An explosion sounded from somewhere behind you, and before you even knew what was happening Ross dropped dead on the ground with a shotgun blast to his gut, a lasso swung heavily through the air as it snagged against Micah, who grunted in surprise, yelping as the rope bore into his flesh, yanking him bodily against the ground, snagging his face against every rock and twig on the way back toward where you'd seen Arthur and the rest hiding just moments before. 

And then, before Milton could even press a finger over his sheathed pistol, you aimed your gun lower and pulled the trigger, bullets tearing straight though his arm and leg and he screamed out in pain as he dropped to the ground, pistol falling out of his grip and skidding straight down the hill. 

You were on him in no time, using the butt of your pistol to batter it across his face. "You made my life a living hell," you growled, smacking that hard metal hard against his face, the bones that used to be there becoming squelchy messes under the force of your swings. "Every single day, wishing against wishing that one day, I'd just not wake up. Ruined my life, _killed_ my _child,_ murdered my parents, ripping away my innocence from me, used me as you toy," you seethed, breaths heaving as you pulled back, Milton barley moving underneath you. 

You pressed the barrel of your gun to the center of his forehead, saditious smile plastered on your face as you looked on to his one still opened eye. "My father was a fool to hand me over to you, but it wasn't you he was adhering to." You cocked the gun back, Milton whimpering slightly against the clicking sound, closing his eye. "He did it because he knew his daughter, and he knew that one day, we'd both end up here." You pressed the gun further into his squishy forehead, grimacing as you let an inhuman chuckle pass through your lips. "I can't wait to meet you in hell." 

And, with that, you pulled the trigger. 

His head exploded into a tidal wave of crimson red, splattering all over your face and you only wiped it against your sleeve, standing up to admire your work. 

The man, the very man you'd dreamed of for years a pile much like this under you, you didn't even know you were crying until you felt your knees beginning to buckle out from under you, your head swimming as you felt yourself falling. 

Strong, soft, careful, warm arms squeezed securely around your lithe frame, holding you steady against their chest and the ground, and those piercing, beautiful blue eyes the only color you saw now as you looked up at him, a wide smile cracking your jaw as you lifted your sluggish hand, stroking it deliriously across the soft surface of his skin.

"Princess, you did it." His deep voice reverberated through you, warming your blood and sending shivers down you spine. "You really did it, Babe. I'm so proud of you," he whispered, nuzzling his nose deep into your hair as he lay a longing, deep kids against your scalp. 

You smiled, exhausted as you let Arthur help you to stand, supporting you as you both stumbled toward where John, Hoses and Dutch were stood, glowering down at the struggling, hogtied form of Hosea on the ground below them. 

"Y/N!" You heard John scream in relief, testing off toward the two of you and rounding to the other side of you, wrapping your arm supportingly around him as he also helped you stay upright. "Thank God, you're alright. Did you get to do it?" 

You nodded slowly, sleepy smile stretching slowly across your lips. "Yeah, yeah I did." 

John's face scrunched up into a genuine smile, and his hand found yours draped acriss his shoulder, squeezing it into a grounding grip as he laughed. "That's good, that's real good, Y/N." 

Hosea and Dutch both beamed at you as you stood in front of them, Hosea stepping forward and ducking his head, pressing his forehead firmly against yours, eyes closed as he wrapped his hands securely around your back. "I'm so very proud of you, Sweetheart." 

You felt the prideful tears stinging at the corner of your eyes, taking a deep, shaky inhale as you smiled, nodding firmly against him as the tears began to steak down your face. 

You pulled away to the sound of Dutch clearing his throat, glaring at you with a determined, but yet still so comforting glare as he nodded his head down toward Micah, who'd seemed unlike him to have accepted his fate, lying motionless in the ground as his eyes glued to you. 

"What would you like us to do with this snake, Y/N?" Dutch asked gently, eyes never leaving your form.

You glared down at Micah, a cocky smirk pulling your lips as you spat down on him. "How's that medicine taste, Micah?" You hissed, looking up to Dutch and shrugging. "You do what you want with him, Dutch. I got all my uses out of him." 

Dutch nodded understandably, glowering back down to Micah. "Well then, my _friend,"_ he growled, whipping out his pistol and training it straight on his face, "things really aren't looking good for you. Shame you won't live long enough to see us outlaws win out, after all." 

"Wait," Arthur sounded from beside you, slowly letting you go and pushing you further into John's weight, who accepted you happily. He pulled out his shotgun, nodding at Dutch. "Let me do it. Please." 

Dutch looked to Arthur, a knowing glint n his eyes as he looked back at you. You nodded slowly, and Dutch tore his eyes back to Arthur, making a show of holstering his pistol as he gestured his hand toward Micah. "Please son, be my guest." 

Arthur grunted in affirmation, steeping slowly over Micah, legs on either side of his as he aimed his shotgun at him. 

And as much as you wanted to see that snake rot against the rocky ground, you felt as if someone was pulling hard down against your gut, letting out a confused grunt of pain as you feebly grabbed toward your stomach. 

"Y/N?" John asked, voice full of concern as he rounded on you. "Y/N, what's wrong?" 

"I-I don't-'" you groaned as a stabbing pain erupted just between your legs and you realized, with a sickening sense of apprehension, that you knew this exact feeling. "No, no no no," you distantly heard yourself muttering as you numbly felt a strong set of hands wrap around you, feeling as you were being lifted in the air and pressed down against something hard. 

You felt the vibration under your body as you felt as your body was being moved, then felt absolutely nothing at all as the black overtook you. 

* * *

When you next woke, it was to a set of blinding lights bearing down on you, a weight against your arm not letting you block out the light, and you groaned against the intensity.

Immediately, the pressure lifted from your arm and you felt as those telling calloused, huge, warm hands laced into your own. You looked down to see Arthur, eyes bloodshot against those brilliant blues and puffy, as if he'd just gotten through crying. 

"Ar.." you began, but the desert in your throat threw you into a coughing fit, groaning against the still-pulling feel of your gut as it was overused. 

"Hold on, Princess." Arthur cooed, standing swiftly and disappearing behind a curtain, reappearing with a tall glass of mouth-watering, cool and refreshing water that you snatched greedily from his hands, gulping down in two seconds flat. 

You looked back down to see Arthur smirking slightly, despite the worry lines encroached on his forehead as he reached over, taking the glass from your hands and placing it on the beside table next to you. "Where-where am I? What happened?"

Arthur felt himself smirking, chuckle falling from his lips as he said in his best impersonation of you, "You're asking all the wrong questions." 

You rolled your eyes at him, but couldn't hide the smirk pulling at your lips. "Don't you dare use my own words against me, Arthur Morgan." 

He chuckled lightly, but his face almost immediately stilled into a sobering seiousness as he looked down, taking your hand in both of his, playing absently with your fingers. "The other guys all headed back to camp, getting everything ready to move because we sure as hell can't stay after that shit-show we just caused." 

You felt the burning urge against the tip of your tongue as you parted your lips. "Micah?" 

Arthur stilled, holding your pinky up in the air as you felt the subtle but noticeable pressure building on the grip he had on your hand. "I took care of him," he grunted darkly, and that's all he would say about that.

You nodded understandably, squeezing your hand comfortably against his as you sighed, turning your head to gauge your surroundings. "So, where are we now, then?" 

"We're at the hospital," Arthur ground out, squeezing your hand comfortingly at your small gasp. "You fainted again right before I pulled the trigger on Micah, and everyone thought that-" he paused, sighing as he closed his eyes, "I wouldn't take no for an answer." 

"So, what-" you gulped heavily, scratching your nails against the tough skin of Arthur's hand, "what's wrong with me?" 

"I don't know," Arthur said honestly, bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing gently against your knuckles. "But whatever it is, you ain't gotta worry about a thing. I ain't going nowhere, Princess. And I never will." 

The dread was still present in your gut, the shivers of panic ghosting on your skin, but the way Arthur had reassured you, those blue-green absolutely sincere as they bored into yours, a huge, genuine smile stretched across your face. "I love you, Arthur Morgan." 

"As do I," he replied, squeezing your hand close to his heart. "Always.''

And, as if he'd felt the utter urge and panic raging through your hearts as you both anxiously awaited his return, the doctor ducked into your room, eyes downcast at his clipboard until he walked right up to you, eyes finding your's with a smile ghosting his features. 

"Well Ms. (y/l/n), I've got some good news," he chimed, nodding obviously toward your stomach before looking back at you with a physical smile on his lips now.

"You're pregnant."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a whole 3/4 of this typed and then my power went out-lost 1/2 of that. 😬😬
> 
> How y'all like that ending? A little happy extreme surprise to try and make up for the overbearing angst that was this chapter.  
> Arthur Morgan as a father really, really fills my heart because that man deserved so much better than what he got. Call it self-indulgence then, I don't care. ♥️♥️


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